Columbia  29nitJet^itp 

THE  LIBRARIES 


lyuuu 


WILLIAM   ORNE   WHITE 

A  RECORD  OF  NINETY 
YEARS 


//I^6^i4l^>tyin^    {ynr7>L£) /m.^^ 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

A  RECORD  OF  NINETY  YEARS 

EDITED   BY 

ELIZA  ORNE  WHITE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

^be  fiiterjSitie  pxe0  Cambritige 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,    T917,   BY   ELIZA  ORNE   WHITE 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  February  iqij 


CD 

UJ 


THIS    BOOK 

IS    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 

TO    MY    SISTER 

ROSE    WHITE    NEAD 


PREFACE 

In  the  introduction  to  his  matchless  Life  of  Alice 
Freeman  Palmer,  Professor  Palmer  says:  "To  leave 
the  dead  wholly  dead  is  rude." 

It  is  this  feeling  that  has  impelled  me  to  get 
together  these  letters  of  my  father's.  His  person- 
ality was  so  striking,  his  individuality  had  so 
unique  a  touch,  and  his  influence  was  so  great 
upon  those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  in  his 
quiet  life,  while  the  records  I  had  to  draw  from 
were  so  full,  that  I  could  not  bear  to  let  silence 
close  around  him,  if  anything  I  could  do  would 
help  to  perpetuate  his  memory. 

My  father  was  a  faithful  and  beloved  pastor  in 
a  country  parish  for  twenty-seven  years,  and  dur- 
ing his  long  life  through  a  vital  period  In  our  his- 
tory he  took  a  keen  interest,  not  only  in  national 
affairs,  but  in  all  the  public  matters  which  related 
to  the  welfare  of  the  community  In  which  he  lived. 

In  making  the  extracts  from  his  letters  I  have 
chosen  many  passages  that  show  his  lighter  side; 
for  no  sketch  of  my  father  would  be  complete  that 
[  vli  ] 


PREFACE 

did  not  show  the  racy  love  of  fun  which  helped  to 
light  up  the  graver  side  of  his  character.  His  deep 
faith  and  spiritual  outlook  made  him  a  help  in 
time  of  trouble,  while  with  his  perennial  sense  of 
humor  he  was  a  stimulating  and  delightful  com- 
panion in  the  everyday  affairs  of  life. 

The  world  is  so  rapidly  changing  that  I  have  felt 
that  these  annals  in  the  life  of  a  country  minister 
in  the  middle  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  will 
have  a  certain  historic  value  for  us  of  to-day. 

Eliza  Orne  White 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
January  3,  191 7. 


CONTENTS 


I.  Childhood  —  1821-1831       .... 
II.  Exeter  Academy — 1835-1836 

III.  Harvard  College — 1836-1840 

IV.  Europe  and  the  Divinity  School —  1840- 
V.  Eastport  and  St.  Louis — 1846-1847 

VI.  Marriage  and  West  Newton — 1848-1850 

VII.  Early  Years  in  Keene — 1851-1861 

VIII.  The  Civil  War— 1861-1865     .      .      . 

IX.  Letters  to  a  Child  —  1860-1866  . 

X.  Later  Years  in  Keene — 1866-1876    . 

XI.  Europe  and  Last  Year  in  Keene —  1871- 

XII.  From  Sixty  to  Ninety — 1881-1911     . 

Index    


84s 


878 


I 

IS 

28 

SI 
66 
89 
96 

143 

184 
197 
220 
248 
277 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

William  Orne  White Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph 

William  Orne  White 54 

From  a  painting  by  Thomas  Badger  in  1840 

Margaret  Eliot  White ,      .    98 

From  a  painting  by  Chester  Harding  in  1849 

William  Orne  White 250 

From  a  painting  by  Ellen  Day  Hale  in  iQog 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

A  RECORD  OF  NINETY  YEARS 
CHAPTER  I 

CHILDHOOD 
182I-183I 

William  Orne  White  was  born  on  the  12th  of 
February,  1821,  a  birthday  which  had  been  appro- 
priated some  years  earlier  by  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  Charles  Darwin.  He  was  the  son  of  Daniel 
Appleton  White,  judge  of  the  Probate  Court  in 
Salem,  Massachusetts.  His  mother,  whose  maiden 
name  was  Eliza  Orne,  died  a  few  weeks  after  his 
birth,  and  he  used  to  say  he  supposed  her  friends 
thought  it  a  pity  that  the  child  survived  the 
mother.  And  yet  the  frail  little  baby  was  destined 
to  struggle  through  a  delicate  childhood  and  youth 
and  reach  a  hardy  old  age,  finding  an  ever- 
increasing  zest  in  life,  which  he  enjoyed  as  few 
people  do,  until  the  time  of  his  last  illness,  which 
shadowed  his  final  year. 

[  I  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

He  was  seventh  in  descent  from  William  White, 
who  came  over  from  England  in  1635  and  landed  in 
Ipswich,  Massachusetts,  removing  to  Haverhill  in 
1640,  where  he  lived  a  long  and  useful  life,  dying 
at  the  age  of  eighty  in  1690.  He  was  also  seventh 
in  descent  on  his  mother's  side  from  John  Home, 
the  name  being  changed  to  Orne  in  the  next  gen- 
eration. There  was  a  tradition  in  the  family  that 
the  Homes  came  from  Holland  and  were  descend- 
ants of  Count  Home  who  was  executed  with  Count 
Egmont. 

John  Home  also  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  dying 
when  he  was  eighty-two,  in  1685.  William  Orne 
White's  grandfather,  William  Orne,  was  a  promi- 
nent merchant  of  Salem,  Massachusetts,  and  the 
first  to  send  a  ship  to  Brazil  from  that  port.  He 
married  Abigail  Ropes,  daughter  of  Judge  Ropes 
of  Salem,  who  held  his  position  under  the  English 
Crown  at  the  time  of  the  breaking-out  of  the 
Revolution.  He  had  to  decide  whether  to  be  loyal 
to  his  king  or  to  his  country.  The  stanch  old  Tory 
decided  in  favor  of  his  king,  and  the  windows  of 
his  house  were  broken  by  stones  that  were  thrown 
by  the  patriot  mob  as  he  lay  dying.  The  house  is 
still  standing  on  Essex  Street  in  Salem.  It  is  known 
as  the  Ropes  Memorial  and  is  open  on  certain 

I  2  ] 


CHILDHOOD 

afternoons  to  the  public.  Here  one  can  picture  the 
loyalist  judge  as  he  sat  at  his  desk  in  one  of  his 
Chippendale  chairs,  with  his  Sheffield  plate  candle- 
sticks on  the  mantelpiece,  in  those  days  when  the 
very  furniture  took  on  a  grace  of  line  that  must 
have  added  to  the  daily  pleasure  of  living.  One 
can  imagine  him  as  he  lay  ill  in  his  four-poster  bed 
in  the  southeast  chamber,  while  the  mob  threw 
stones  against  his  windows.  His  daughter  Abigail, 
who  married  William  Orne,  was  of  so  rare  and 
lovely  a  character  that  her  father  once  said  that 
she  had  never  done  or  said  a  thing  which  he  wanted 
to  change.  The  mantle  of  her  feminine  charm  — 
for  goodness  alone  could  not  have  elicited  such  a 
compliment  from  a  father  —  evidently  descended 
on  her  only  daughter,  Eliza  Orne,  for  all  who  knew 
her  felt  the  warmest  affection  for  her. 

In  the  relic  room  of  the  Ropes  Memorial  there 
is  a  silhouette  of  Eliza  Orne,  —  Mrs.  Wetmore,  as 
she  was  then,  —  taken  shortly  before  her  marriage 
to  Judge  White.  It  is  a  charming  profile,  spirited, 
if  not  regularly  pretty.  I  have  an  earlier  silhouette 
of  her  in  my  possession.  It  is  a  piquant  face,  and 
with  the  hair  worn  with  a  high  comb  behind,  and 
a  few  waving  tendrils  about  the  forehead,  and  a 
dress  cut  down  in  a  point  in  front  with  a  little  frill 

[3  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

about  the  neck,  the  picture  might  stand  as  a  por- 
trait of  gracious  girlhood  for  all  time. 

She  was  married  at  the  age  of  twenty  to  William 
Wetmore,  and  when  still  very  young  she  was  left  a 
widow.  It  was  many  years  later,  on  August  i,  1819, 
that  she  married  Daniel  Appleton  White  and, 
after  a  brief  year  and  a  half  of  happiness,  she  died 
on  March  27,  1821,  In  the  thirty-seventh  year  of 
her  age.  But  If  she  lived  so  brief  a  time  there  was 
the  compensation  of  having  those  few  years  filled 
with  affection,  and  with  the  sorrows  and  joys  that 
make  life  a  rich  experience.  She  must  have  had  a 
warm  and  loving  nature,  for  her  two  young  step- 
daughters were  passionately  devoted  to  her.  After 
her  death,  the  eldest,  Elizabeth  Amelia,  wanted  to 
be  called  Eliza,  and  when  she  was  an  old  woman 
she  used  to  tell  her  niece,  Eliza,  of  those  early  days 
when  their  lonely  house  was  brightened  by  the 
new  mother,  who  sat  by  the  parlor  window  In  the 
lamplight  every  evening,  watching  eagerly  for  her 
husband's  return.  One  of  his  brothers,  who  was  a 
farmer,  used  to  say  how  welcome  she  made  him 
feel  when  he  came  to  the  house,  with  her  simple 
cordiality,  as  she  said,  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you, 
brother  John."  She  was  evidently  a  great  reader, 
for  there  Is  a  bookcase  with  its  shelves  filled  with 

[4] 


CHILDHOOD 

books  containing  her  name,  ranging  from  volumes 
of  sermons  and  a  set  of  Shakespeare  to  Mrs.  Glass's 
Cookery  Book.  Not  only  was  she  loved  by  the 
friends  of  her  own  class,  but  by  the  poor,  and  it 
is  recorded  that  at  her  funeral  there  was  a  pa- 
thetic woman  in  shabby  black  whom  she  had  once 
befriended,  bowed  with  grief  and  shaking  with 
sobs. 

Although  my  father  could  not  remember  his 
mother,  he  always  tenderly  cherished  her  memory 
and  she  had  a  very  great  influence  over  his  life. 
I  have  spoken  of  his  ancestors  because  it  is  inter- 
esting to  trace  the  qualities  of  heart  and  mind 
which  they  gave  him.  On  many  occasions  he  had 
the  same  unflinching  spirit  in  standing  out  for  the 
right  as  he  saw  it,  that  was  shown  by  his  loyalist 
great-grandfather,  while  from  his  mother  he  in- 
herited various  traits,  among  them  the  power  of 
winning  and  keeping  aflfection. 

It  was  a  composite  household  into  which  William 
was  born.  Judge  White  had  first  married  Mary 
Wilder  Van  Schalkwyck,  but  she  died  four  years 
after  her  marriage,  leaving  two  daughters,  Eliza- 
beth Amelia  and  Mary  Wilder,  who  were  twelve 
and  ten  years  older  than  William.  After  the  death 
of  his  mother,  my  father's  cousin,  Amelia  White, 

[  5  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

came  to  keep  house  for  her  uncle,  and  lived  with 
him  until  her  marriage,  which  occurred  before  the 
little  boy  was  three  years  old.  He  was  devoted  to 
her  and  remembered  her  marriage  as  the  tragedy 
of  his  childhood.  He  used  to  describe  the  scene 
even  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  his  memory  going 
back  eighty-six  years,  to  the  time  when  he  saw  his 
beautiful  cousin  standing  up  to  be  married  to  the 
Reverend  William  B.  O.  Peabody,  whom  he  re- 
garded as  a  fierce  brigand,  because  one  of  the  serv- 
ants had  told  him  that  Mr.  Peabody  had  come 
to  take  his  cousin  Amelia  away.  He  passionately 
wished  that  he  were  old  enough  to  fight  him  and 
keep  his  beloved  cousin  all  to  himself.  In  a  letter 
written  long  afterwards  he  says:  "Her  wedding 
was  the  great  sorrow  of  my  childhood,  standing 
out  in  my  memory  from  everything  else  in  those 
few  years." 

When  William  was  three  years  old  his  father 
married  Ruth  Hurd  Rogers  (January  22,  1824), 
the  widow  of  his  most  intimate  friend.  Her  daugh- 
ter, Emily  Rogers,  who  was  seven  years  older  than 
William,  was  like  a  real  sister;  while  a  brother, 
Henry  Orne  White,  born  December  6,  1824,  com- 
pleted the  family.  '. 

All  who  knew  them  during  those  early  years 
[  6] 


CHILDHOOD 

speak  of  the  delightful  atmosphere  in  the  Salem 
home,  and  of  the  way  in  which  these  diverse  ele- 
ments were  welded  into  a  peculiarly  congenial 
household  by  my  grandfather,  whom  all  his  chil- 
dren revered  and  loved.  The  relations  between 
William  and  his  new  mother  were  from  the  first 
unusually  cordial.  In  writing  to  her  many  years 
after,  he  says: — 

"Your  recalling  nothing,  moreover,  that  is  not 
agreeable  about  my  childhood  may  fairly,  I  think, 
be  due  in  good  measure  to  your  not  seeking  any 
occasions  for  discipline.  With  some  solemn  talks, 
I  associate  my  sister  Eliza,  who  was  also  so  true  a 
friend,  and  with  some  sharp  discipline,  my  dear 
good  father,  but  I  cannot  recall  thus  coming  in 
collision  with  you.  You,  doubtless,  at  the  outset, 
reflected  upon  the  delicacy  of  the  new  relation, 
and  the  proverbial  acidity  and  sternness  of  it,  and 
so  preferred  not  to  'magnify'  your  'office'  in  the 
way  in  which  you  may  have  supposed  it  sometimes 
is  magnified. 

"With  psalm-tunes  and  reading  the  Old  Testa- 
ment Sunday  evening,  and  with  sundry  of  the 
garden  flowers,  and  with  'Orion'  in  the  heavens, 
I  associate  you  most  pleasantly." 

I  have  no  record  of  my  father's  early  childhood, 
[  7  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

other  than  the  anecdotes  he  used  to  tell.  Slight  as 
these  are,  they  serve,  when  taken  together,  to 
make  a  picture  of  the  child,  who  was  so  like  the 
man  of  after  life.  Apparently  he  felt  the  call  to 
the  ministry  at  an  early  age,  for  when  he  was  barely 
able  to  talk,  his  sister  found  him  preaching  to  the 
pigeons. 

The  following  story  shows  his  sensitiveness. 
When  he  was  a  small  boy  a  distinguished  man 
dined  at  his  father's  house.  The  little  William, 
full  of  admiration  and  friendliness,  followed  him 
down  the  path  and  shyly  gave  him  a  wild  flower. 
He  watched  the  great  man  pass  through  the  gate 
and  saw  him  carelessly  drop  the  flower,  and  the 
little  boy  felt  such  pain  at  having  his  gift  despised, 
that  it  made  him  careful  all  his  life  of  the  feelings 
of  children. 

Another  more  cheerful  tale  illustrates  his  general 
benevolence  and  wish  to  help,  so  characteristic  of 
him,  although  in  later  life  this  impulse  fortunately 
was  not  attended  with  such  comically  disastrous 
consequences.  One  morning  he  heard  his  father 
and  mother  say  at  breakfast  that  they  were  going 
to  ask  the  venerable  Colonel  Timothy  Pickering 
to  dinner.  On  the  way  to  school  he  chanced  to 
meet  the  stately  old  man,  and  then  and  there  he 

f  8  1 


CHILDHOOD 

gave  the  invitation,  which  was  promptly  accepted. 
He  thought  no  more  about  the  matter,  until,  after 
his  return  from  school,  he  saw  the  colonel  coming 
down  the  street. 

"Why,  there  comes  Colonel  Pickering!"  Judge 
White  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"Yes,"  said  William,  "I  met  him  and  asked  him 
to  come  to  dinner." 

The  consternation  of  the  household  at  this  reve- 
lation was  extreme,  for  it  appeared  that  Judge 
White  had  not  been  able  to  find  what  he  wanted  at 
the  market,  and  the  colonel  was  not  one  to  be 
treated  with  informality.  And  here  he  was,  com- 
ing in  at  the  gate. 

My  father  used  to  tell  with  inimitable  humor 
of  the  dull  and  lifeless  meal  which  followed,  for 
apparently  the  social  gifts  of  his  beautiful  step- 
mother were  insufficient  to  meet  the  domestic 
crisis,  as  Judge  White  asked  the  colonel,  in  a 
subdued  voice,  if  he  would  take  a  little  salt  fish. 

The  boy's  life  was  diversified  by  many  a  trip 
with  his  father  in  the  old-fashioned  chaise,  as  he 
drove  about  the  country  attending  the  Probate 
Court.  Sometimes  they  went  as  far  as  Exeter, 
where  the  relatives  of  his  own  mother  lived,  as 
well  as  those  of  his  stepmother.  Occasionally  they 

[9l 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

went  to  the  farm  at  Methuen,  to  see  Judge  White's 
mother,  a  farm  which  is  now  in  the  heart  of  the 
city  of  Lawrence. 

William's  grandmother  was  a  woman  of  strong 
personality,  who  had  brought  up  a  large  family 
of  children,  and  had  had  to  turn  her  hand  to  every- 
thing. My  father  described  her  as  she  used  to  sit 
at  the  window,  in  her  neat  white  cap,  reading  the 
Bible.  On  one  occasion  she  passed  the  book  to 
him. 

"Where  shall  I  read,  grandmother?"  he  asked. 

"Anywhere  you  like,  child.    It  is  all  good." 

Whereupon  he  mischievously  turned  to  the  Old 
Testament  and  read  one  of  the  lists  of  jaw-breaking 
names. 

Once,  when  he  was  playing  by  himself  at  the 
farm,  a  neighbor's  goose  strayed  from  the  flock 
and  wandered  over  on  his  grandmother's  land. 
The  little  boy  impulsively  took  up  a  stone  and 
threw  it  at  the  intruder.  He  had  not  the  smallest 
expectation  of  hitting  it,  and  when  he  saw  the  bird 
topple  over  and  found  that  he  had  killed  it,  his 
surprise  and  consternation  were  great.  When  he 
confessed  the  deed  to  his  grandmother,  his  punish- 
ment was  swift.  He  was  made  to  go  over  to  the 
neighbor  with  his  confession  and  to  pay  for  the 
[   10  1 


CHILDHOOD 

goose.  My  father  used  to  finish  with  a  reminiscent 
gleam  in  his  eye,  "And  we  had  roast  goose  ioi 
dinner." 

Pumpkin  pie  was  another  dish  which  he  asso- 
ciated with  those  early  days.  He  remembered  how 
his  grandmother  urged  his  father  to  let  him  "eat 
his  fill  of  pumpkin  pie,"  and  years  after  the  taste 
of  this  favorite  dish  made  him  "see  his  grand- 
mother, as  the  taste  of  scarce  any  article  had  done 
for  many  a  year."  He  writes:  "I  was  straightway 
in  grandmother's  west  room,  before  the  open  fire, 
with  candles  on  the  table.  Aunt  Charlotte  bringing 
in  the  pie,  and  as  father  and  I  sat  down  to  table, 
I  could  again  hear  grandmother's  voice,  'Now, 
Daniel,  do  let  the  boy  eat  all  he  wants,  for  once,' 
as  father  remonstrated  about  a  second  piece  of 
pie. 

He  also  recalled  the  drives  that  he  took  with  his 
grandmother  through  Pelham  and  Methuen  and 
the  pride  with  which  she  introduced  him  to  her 
friends  as  "  My  son  Daniel's  son." 

When  he  was  a  very  little  child,  William  went  to 
Miss  Hetty  Higginson's  Dame  School  for  boys  and 
girls.  She  was  an  excellent  teacher  and  evidently 
had  a  great  influence  over  her  scholars,  for  he 
counted  her  among  his  best  friends.  Judging  by 
[  II  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

the  beautiful  old  chairs  and  table  that  she  left  him, 
her  house  must  have  been  most  attractively  fur- 
nished. The  table,  or,  more  properly,  the  low-boy, 
is  of  an  ancient  and  unusually  beautiful  style,  and 
always  held  a  position  of  great  dignity  in  its  owner's 
house,  being  familiarly  known  to  the  family  as 
*'Miss  Higginson." 

It  used  to  seem  to  us  who  listened  to  the  tales  of 
his  childhood  as  if  my  father  never  forgot  any  thing 
or  any  person  he  had  ever  known,  and  when  in 
later  life  one  of  his  fellow  pupils  at  Miss  Higglnson's 
school  became  a  near  neighbor,  it  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  him  to  go  to  see  her  and  recall  those 
old  days  which  terminated  before  he  was  seven 
years  old. 

When  his  education  at  the  Dame  School  was 
finished,  he  went  to  Mr.  Nichols's  school  for  boys. 
(December  3,  1827.)  Here  at  the  age  of  seven  he 
began  to  study  Latin  grammar.  The  foundation 
laid  thus  early  in  the  language  stood  him  in  good 
stead  throughout  his  life. 

When  William  was  ten  years  old  he  was  sent 
away  to  a  boarding-school  in  Cambridge.  It  is 
interesting  to  compare  the  prices  of  the  present 
day  with  those  of  more  than  eighty  years  ago,  for 
we  read  that  the  total  expense  for  tuition,  with 
[  12  1 


CHILDHOOD 

board  and  lodging,  was  three  hundred  dollars  a 
year. 

Mr.  Wells's  school  was  a  famous  one  In  Its  day 
and  was  delightfully  situated  on  Brattle  Street. 
One  can  only  hope  the  other  small  boys  who  shared 
its  privileges  were  not  so  miserable  as  William  was, 
for  to  him  those  few  months  were  an  unmitigated 
tragedy.  He  said  that  his  acute  homesickness, 
which  lasted  as  long  as  he  stayed  there,  was  so 
severe  that  it  cured  him  of  the  malady  for  life,  and 
that  never,  even  when  he  was  111  and  friendless  In 
a  foreign  land,  did  he  have  anything  approaching 
to  It. 

The  earliest  of  his  letters  in  my  possession  dates 
from  this  period,  and  after  reading  It  we  cannot 
wonder  that  his  father  decided  to  take  him  away 
from  the  school  at  the  end  of  the  first  term.  It 
runs  as  follows:  — 

Cambridge,  Monday  noon, 
June  20,  1 831 1. 

My  dear  Father, — 

I  think  that  I  will  write  a  few  lines  to  you  as 

I  enclose  this  letter  from  Springfield.    If  you  or 

Mary  or  Mother  have  not  written  to  me  when 

this  reaches  you,  I  hope  you  will,  for  as  the  boys 

[  13  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

still  plague  me  and  I  do  not  feel  very  happy,  It 
always  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  from  you 
or  others.  If  Mrs.  Holmes  takes  this  I  hope  you 
will  all  write  me  by  her,  if  convenient,  as  it  will 
make  me  feel  very  happy  to  hear  from  you,  but  if 
it  is  inconvenient  you  need  not  or  at  least  I  shall 
expect  something  from  home.  I  look  forward  with 
eagerness  to  the  short  span  of  two  weeks  when 
I  hope  to  see  Salem.  Give  my  love  to  Mother, 
Henry  and  Mary  and  Cousin  Nancy  if  you  see  her. 
And  believe  me  your  affectionate  son, 

William  Orne  White. 

Eliza  if  you  write  to  her  tell  her  I  send  great  love. 


CHAPTER  II 

EXETER  ACADEMY 
1835-1836 

In  1835,  when  William  was  fourteen  years  old,  he 
went  to  Exeter  Academy.  He  had  the  advantage 
of  living  with  the  Reverend  Isaac  Hurd,  who 
was  the  brother  of  his  stepmother,  and  he  greatly 
enjoyed  the  companionship  of  a  step-cousin,  Frank 
Hurd,  with  whom  he  shared  a  room.  He  often 
referred  to  this  year  as  one  of  the  happiest  of  his 
boyhood. 

From  a  packet  of  old  letters  filed  away  with  great 
care  by  his  parents,  I  have  been  able  to  piece 
together  an  account  of  his  life  In  Exeter,  and  to 
get  some  Idea  of  the  Academy  as  it  was  more  than 
three  quarters  of  a  century  ago.  In  reading  over 
these  old  letters  one  Is  forcibly  struck  by  the  confi- 
dence that  existed  between  father  and  son,  an  inti- 
mate comradeship,  which  differs  greatly  from  one's 
preconceived  Idea  of  the  formal  relations  of  the 
older  and  younger  generation  In  those  early  years 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

It  Is  hard  to  picture  a  life  so  different  from  ours. 
[  15  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

The  long,  slow  journey  by  stage-coach  was  an 
event  In  itself.  On  one  occasion  he  speaks  of  hav- 
ing a  hasty  dinner  at  Newburyport,  at  the  house  of 
his  Aunt  Marston. 

"There  was  but  one  man  inside  the  coach,"  he 
writes,  "and  he  only  went  as  far  as  Amesbury, 
and  as  there  was  little  baggage  on,  and  only  one 
person  outside  with  the  driver,  I  experienced  the 
severest  shaking  I  had  had  this  many  a  day." 

Once  having  arrived  at  his  journey's  end,  the 
provisions  for  comfort  were  not  equal  to  those  he 
was  accustomed  to  in  Salem. 

He  says,  in  writing  on  December  i6,  "I  think 
you  must  be  very  comfortable  at  home  with  grates 
and  stove,  both  of  which  are  a  luxury  which  have 
not  been  introduced  into  this  bleak  New  Hamp- 
shire village." 

Some  sort  of  a  stove  there  must  have  been  down- 
stairs, for  a  little  later  he  writes,  "I  am  now  sit- 
ting down  by  the  stove  in  the  eating  room,  dearest 
father  (for  the  wind  has  prevented  the  making  of 
a  fire  in  the  chamber  more  than  once  since  I  re- 
turned.)" 

The  fires  in  their  open  fireplace  could  not  have 
greatly  raised  the  temperature  of  their  bedroom, 
for  we  learn  that  he  and  his  cousin  Frank  had  to 
[  i6  1 


EXETER  ACADEMY 

break  the  ice  In  their  water  pitcher  every  morning 
throughout  the  winter. 

He  took  pictures  and  a  writing-desk  with  him 
from  home,  one  of  the  old-fashioned  desks  small 
enough  to  be  "conveniently  carried  about." 

Good  resolutions  for  the  coming  year,  and  a  keen 
appreciation  of  the  nuts,  pears,  and  apples  that 
were  sent  him  from  home,  mingle  In  his  letters 
with  that  delightful  disregard  for  the  conventional, 
which  made  him  such  a  refreshing  correspondent 
throughout  his  life,  and  gave  to  his  personality  a 
flavor  and  piquancy  that  were  all  its  own. 

If  at  times  we  feel  from  the  letters  that  the  youth- 
ful writer  is  so  devoted  to  religion  and  to  his 
studies,  as  to  be  one  of  those  saints  destined  by  the 
gods  who  love  them  to  "die  young,"  the  next  sen- 
tence relieves  our  minds.  ! 

Soon  after  reaching  Exeter  he  writes  as  follows 
to  his  father:  "I  think  as  you  do  about  the  manner 
of  passing  the  Sabbath,  and  shall  make  It  a  point 
to  observe  It  In  the  manner  you  propose.  I  have 
joined  a  Bible  class  who  study  the  second  part  of 
Allen's  questions." 

He  goes  on  in  the  same  letter:  "You  ask  me 
about  my  studies,  what  lessons  I  have  studied  In 
Horace,  etc.    I  have  finished  the  first  book  since 
[  17  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

you  have  returned,  and  am  now  beginning  to  re- 
view, getting  five  or  six  odes  at  a  lesson.  The  pears 
have  ripened  beautifully.  I  have  given  a  dishful 
to  Aunt  Hurd  every  day,  and  mean  to  carry  some 
to  Aunt  Orne  to-day.  I  ought  not  to  have  omitted 
that  I  get  a  lesson  in  Greek  Grammar  at  present 
in  the  afternoon." 

The  classics  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  cur- 
riculum of  the  Exeter  Academy  of  those  days. 
Again  he  says:  "I  recited  the  last  lesson  in  Gram- 
mar this  morning,  and  we  translate  an  ode  in 
Horace  for  to-night's  lesson;  i.e.,  we  translate  an 
ode  into  English  and  write  it  off  on  paper,  which 
we  hand  up  to  Dr.  Abbot  in  the  morning.  My 
Greek  goes  on  very  well.  We  have  just  finished 
Lucian's  'Dialogues  of  the  Dead.'  Every  Tuesday 
morning  we  translate  an  ode,  and  every  Friday  we 
write  from  Latin  Tutor.  The  other  mornings  we 
recite  Horace,  until  we  have  finished  the  third 
book,  when,  I  suppose,  we  shall  begin  to  review 
our  other  studies.  I  shall  want  a  'Colburn's  Alge- 
bra' soon.  I  am  reading  Irving's  'Life  of  Colum- 
bus' at  present,  which  I  am  much  interested  in. 
When  you  next  send  I  should  like  to  have  you  put 
in  a  paper-knife  and  a  pocketbook,  both  of  which 
articles  I  have  occasion  for.  As  I  shall  want  some 
[  i8  1 


EXETER  ACADEMY 

money  to  pay  my  fare  to  Portsmouth,  and  as  we 
have  got  to  buy  an  axe  between  us,  I  shall  need 
some  money." 

This  axe  was  a  necessary  part  of  their  outfit,  for 
one  of  the  duties  which  devolved  on  the  boys  was 
chopping  the  wood  for  their  open  fire. 

The  home  letters  were  always  a  great  excitement 
to  William.  They  were  often  enclosed  in  "the 
packet"  which  seems  to  have  been  sent  frequently 
from  home,  sometimes  containing  articles  of  cloth- 
ing and  the  ever-welcome  gingerbread,  nuts,  or 
pears.  On  one  occasion  he  writes,  "Aunt  Kurd 
was  strongly  minded  to  tie  my  letter  to  a  pillow- 
case, which  she  wished  to  send  on,  to  get  some 
crackers  in,  but  will  wait  till  mother  comes,  or 
some  other  opportunity."  And  another  time  he 
says,  "Aunt  Orne  was  much  pleased  with  the  con- 
tents of  her  jars.  The  rose  water,  she  wished  me  to 
say  to  mother,  was  prime.  The  nuts,  tender,  I 
know  not,  but  delicious." 

He  had  already  acquired  a  passion  for  reading 
the  newspapers  and  a  vivid  interest  in  the  ther- 
mometer. During  an  Exeter  winter  he  had  abun- 
dant chances  to  gratify  both  tastes.  Many  a  walk 
was  taken  to  the  house  of  his  mother's  relative  by 
marriage,  "Aunt  Orne,"  ostensibly  for  the  purpose 
[  19] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

of  making  a  friendly  call,  but  I  fear  quite  as  much 
for  the  sake  of  reading  the  "Salem  Gazette,"  for 
afterwards  when  In  college,  he  begs  his  father  to 
send  it  to  him,  "as  I  can  now  no  longer  go  over  to 
Aunt  Orne's  to  tea  and  *  bring  the  paper.'" 

The  winter  of  1835-36  was  unusually  severe.  On 
December  16,  1835,  he  writes:  "This  morning  I 
took  my  walk  as  usual,  of  more  than  a  mile  out. 
The  wind  was  very  high  indeed,  the  thermometer 
4°  below  zero.  On  my  return  I  looked  again  and 
found  it  6°  below,  just  after  dinner  12°  below,  and 
just  before  supper  14°  below  zero.  It  would  not  be 
so  remarkable,  were  it  not  for  the  very  high  wind 
which  has  been  blowing  the  whole  time  and  still 
continues  to.  Two  of  the  boys  had  their  ears 
frozen,  another  his  fingers,  who  came  from  a  dis- 
tance to  the  Academy." 

On  March  15,  1836,  he  writes:  "I  have  enjoyed 
my  walks  more  than  ever.  Almost  every  day  last 
week,  and  this  week  too,  the  crust  has  been  excel- 
lent, and  I  have  taken  almost  all  my  walks  in  the 
fields  and  woods,  and  principally  up  and  down  the 
river.  The  river  last  week  afforded  excellent  exer- 
cise, as  we  could  walk,  slide,  etc.,  just  as  we 
pleased.  To-night,  before  tea,  I  walked  on  the 
New-Market  road  almost  a  mile  till  I  got  opposite 
[  20  1 


EXETER  ACADEMY 

Pine  Hill,  when  I  crossed  the  large  river  and  walked 
home  through  the  fields.  Several  teams  had  passed 
across  within  a  day  or  two,  so  there  was  a  good 
track  across." 

Exeter,  February  14,  1836. 

My  dear  Father,  — 

I  was  very  much  pleased  to  hear  from  home 
again,  and  to  have  such  good  accounts  of  all  at 
home.  The  packet  arrived  just  as  I  had  returned 
from  Aunt  Orne's  where  I  took  tea.  I  thank  you 
very  much  for  your  delightful  letter,  which  it 
afforded  me  real  pleasure  to  read.  Your  present 
was  just  such  an  one  as  I  should  have  wished,  and 
corresponds  very  well  with  my  other  poets  of  the 
same  form.  I  was  very  much  pleased  at  being  so 
kindly  remembered' while  away  by  all  my  friends 
at  home,  and  I  value  my  presents,  not  only  on 
account  of  their  intrinsic  worth,  but  proving,  as 
they  do,  that  though  absent,  I  still  am  with  you. 
What  you  say  about  application  and  perseverance 
is,  I  think,  very  just,  and  I  hope  that  I  may  be 
enabled  to  carry  into  effect  all  my  good  resolutions. 
Upon  reviewing  the  past  year,  I  think  I  have  an 
hundred  causes  to  be  grateful  for  all  the  mercies 
that  I  have  enjoyed,  and  I  hope  that  I  am  not 
[  21  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

insensible  to  all  the  advantages  with  which  I  am 
surrounded.  I  finished  Sir  Henry  Vane  last  week, 
and  have  been  much  pleased  with  the  perusal  of  it. 
I  liked  all  of  Dr.  Channing's  "Slavery,"  though, 
with  some  others,  think  the  present  hardly  a  fit 
time  for  the  debating  the  question.  He  seems  to 
have  been  handled  rather  roughly  by  some  of  the 
Southern  members,  in  Congress." 

The  letters  from  Exeter  go  on  pleasantly  with 
their  daily  chronicle  of  studies,  walks  to  Aunt 
Orne's,  and  more  stimulating  expeditions  with 
young  companions. 

"Thank  you  for  what  you  said  about  study  and 
exercise.  Though  I  shall  have  to  study  pretty 
hard,  I  shall  not  give  up  my  walks.  I  stopped  a 
minute  at  Miss  Emery's  last  evening,  to  see  if  she 
had  nothing  to  send,  and  as  she  had  no  more  than 
her  love,  I  thought  it  would  be  hardly  worth  while 
to  fit  out  a  bundle  to  send  it,  so  as  I  have  nothing 
to  send  home  at  present,  you  will  find  this  letter  in 
the  Post-Office." 

His  Sundays  seem  to  have  been  strenuous  days, 

for  occasionally  there  were  three  services.     Once 

he  writes:  "Mr.  Clement  of  Chester  preached  all 

day  on  Sunday,  and  there  was  a  third  service  at 

[  22  ] 


'  EXETER  ACADEMY 

half  past  five,  when  I  went  again,  and  he  preached 
a  sermon  of  fifty-seven  minutes.  He  seems  to  be 
much  the  smartest  of  the  pack  about  here.  .  .  . 

"The  highest  and  lowest,  richest  and  poorest, 
have  never  yet  got  along  entirely  without  money, 
and  I  confess  myself  to  be  in  want  of  that  article 
at  present,  and  will  thank  you  to  send  some  in  the 
next  bundle." 

He  writes  in  August  of  that  same  year:  "I  know 
of  no  summer  that  I  have  passed  in  such  good 
health  as  the  present.  I  have  had  less  of  the  head- 
ache than  usual,  and  am,  I  think,  stronger  and 
better  than  in  last  winter.  The  exercise,  of  course, 
goes  on  the  same,  morning  and  evening,  and  I  find 
my  walks  very  pleasant,  especially  the  latter, 
evening,  when  I  am  generally  accompanied  by  a 
pleasant  companion." 

This  was  a  great  contrast  to  the  summer  before 
when  he  was  so  pale  and  thin  that  he  was  greeted 
by  a  frank  relative  with,  "William,  you  look  as  if 
you  were  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption." 
These  words  were  peculiarly  sinister  because  more 
than  one  of  his  young  uncles  on  his  mother's  side 
of  the  house  had  died  at  an  early  age  of  this  dreaded 
disease.  This  cutting  remark,  which  might  have 
had  a  serious  effect  on  him,  proved  to  be  most  for- 
[  23  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

tunate,  for  it  goaded  him  into  prompt  action  and 
this  boy  of  fourteen  intuitively  discovered  the 
value  of  open-air  treatment  for  threatened  lung 
trouble.  He  immediately  went  down  to  the 
wharves  in  Salem  and  engaged  to  go  for  a  ten  days' 
fishing  cruise  with  a  redoubtable  "Captain  Small." 
At  the  end  of  the  time  he  came  home  sunburned 
and  vigorous,  having  gained  as  many  pounds  as 
the  number  of  days  he  had  been  away. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  year  in  Exeter  there  was 
an  "exhibition"  in  which  he  took  part,  his  task 
being  to  compare  Homer  and  Virgil.  When  one 
hears  of  the  higher  standard  of  education  now,  it  is 
interesting  to  look  back  at  the  tasks  these  boys 
had  to  undertake  eighty  years  ago.  He  writes  on 
August  I,  1836:  "Dr.  Abbot  has  given  two  char- 
acters to  two  of  the  boys  to  write  upon,  each  one 
taking  his  own  man,  and  after  they  had  done  he 
wished  me  to  draw  a  sort  of  parallel  or  comparison 
between  the  two  men.  We  have  decided  to  take 
Homer  and  Virgil,  which  he  seemed  to  prefer  we 
should  write  upon.  The  Exhibition  takes  place 
now  in  about  three  weeks,  and  we  shall  have  to  be 
ready  within  a  fortnight,  I  suppose,  in  order  to 
rehearse  before  the  day  comes." 

[24] 


EXETER  ACADEMY 


Exeter,  August  lo,  1836. 
Wednesday  afternoon. 

Many  thanks,  dearest  father,  for  your  long  and 
beautiful  letter.  I  am  very  much  indebted  to  you 
for  the  pains  you  were  at  in  hunting  up  those 
musty  volumes,  and  sending  them  so  promptly. 
Saturday  afternoon  and  most  of  Sunday  I  passed 
in  reading  about  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  from  the 
books  that  you  sent,  and  Monday  had  permission 
to  stay  out  to  write.  By  the  way,  all  the  boys  who 
have  parts,  are  allowed  a  day  (many  of  them  have 
taken  two)  to  write  in.  This  morning  was  rather 
auspicious,  but  the  afternoon  so  hot,  that  I  found 
myself  nodding  over  my  paper!  However,  I  did 
as  much  as  I  could,  and  the  rest  I  finished  at  my 
odd  times  yesterday,  and  this  morning.  I  have  not 
spent  so  much  time  upon  it  as  most  of  the  others, 
because  I  have  no  time  to  spare.  As  it  is,  you  must 
expect  to  see  what  a  boy  of  fifteen,  who  has  never 
been  in  the  regular  habit  of  writing  but  for  a  short 
time,  would  be  apt  to  stumble  upon.  .  .  .  You  see, 
by  what  I  have  said  above,  how  I  pass  my  Sundays, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  two  next  will  hardly 
be  more  hallowed  by  me.  However,  the  way  that 
I  have  kept  my  Sundays  for  the  last  eleven  months 
[  25  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

will  excuse,  as  I  think,  a  little  dereliction  at  the 
end  of  the  year.  .  .  . 

I  am  now  anticipating  the  time  when  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  rejoicing  in  the  light  of  your 
countenance.  Come,  and  stay  a  good  while.  It 
will  do  you  good,  and  I  think  you  would  enjoy 
yourself.  You  know  it  is  probably  the  last  time 
that  you  will  have  a  peculiar  interest  in  the  town. 

The  essay  is  preserved  with  the  letters,  and  the 
following  extracts  show  his  vivid  interest  in  the 
characters  described  by  the  two  poets:  — 

"In  the  Iliad  we  have  Achilles,  Agamemnon, 
Diomed,  Menelaus,  and  a  host  of  others,  all  war- 
riors, yet  all  marked  by  a  variety  of  feature  and 
disposition,  and  each  seeming  to  perform  his  part 
in  the  great  design,  with  perfect  order  and  har- 
mony. The  sage  Nestor,  retaining  in  his  age  the 
vigor  and  animation  of  youth,  appears  in  beautiful 
contrast  with  Priam,  enfeebled  by  years,  yet  affect- 
ing; delighting  us  with  the  strength  of  his  paternal 
attachment.  If  Virgil  is  wanting  in  the  energy  and 
heat  of  Homer,  he  seems  to  surpass  him  in  the 
pathos  and  tenderness  of  his  scenes.  Pallas  and 
Evander,  Nisus  and  Euryalus,  ^neas  and  Andro- 
mache, seem  to  appear  before  us  as  we  read.  The 
f  26  1 


EXETER  ACADEMY 

whole  of  the  second  book  of  the  ^neid  abounds 
in  exciting  images  of  fear  and  sorrow.  .  .  . 

"When  we  review  the  pages  of  these  two  noble 
poets,  and  contemplate  the  beauty  and  elegance 
of  both,  we  feel  hardly  able  to  give  the  preference 
to  either,  and  are  ready  to  say  with  Quintilian,  — 

'"Fortasse  equalitate  pensamus."' 


CHAPTER  III 

HARVARD    COLLEGE 
I 836-1 840 

William  Orne  White  entered  Harvard  College 
in  1836,  In  time  to  be  present  at  its  two  hundredth 
anniversary.  He  shared  his  college  quarters  with 
Edward  B.  Peirson,  of  Salem,  who  was  most  con- 
genial and  who  was  his  warm  friend  to  the  end  of 
Dr.  Pelrson's  life.  That  first  year  they  roomed  at 
I  Holworthy,  and  the  young  Freshman  says,  in 
writing  to  his  father,  "Things  look  quite  comfort- 
able now  In  Number  One;  that  is  the  number  you 
know  we  are  told  we  must  all  look  out  for";  and 
he  adds,  "The  Sophomores  have  been  about  for 
two  or  three  evenings,  and  they  took  care  of 
Number  One." 

Cambridge  was  so  much  nearer  home  than 
Exeter  that  there  were  many  chances  for  seeing 
his  family,  and  his  letters  therefore  were  less  fre- 
quent. They  give,  however,  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
Harvard  of  those  days.  There  Is  a  delightful  flavor 
of  restfulness  about  these  early  letters.  The  very 
f  28  1 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

methods  of  travel  carry  us  back  Into  another 
world;  for  in  comparison  with  the  mad  rush  of  the 
subway  was  the  omnibus  that  went  so  seldom,  and 
the  toll  at  the  bridge. 

After  returning  by  stage  from  Salem,  he  writes: 
"I  had  just  time  to  run  to  Mr.  Sargent's  office, 
and  leave  your  letter  at  his  door,  as  the  office  was 
shut.  I  caught  up  with  the  omnibus  just  as  It  was 
making  round  the  corner,  and  secured  a  ride  out, 
not  without  having  rolled  myself  and  bundle  at 
full  length  in  Brattle  Street,  to  the  admiration  of 
many  pygmy  urchins." 

But  If  the  modes  of  travel  seem  antiquated  to  us, 
there  are  passages  In  the  letters  that  show  that 
human  nature  has  not  changed.  He  writes  on 
May  19,  1837:  "Dr.  Palfrey  preached  an  uncom- 
monly good  sermon  on  'the  times'  on  Sunday, 
from  Haggal  ist,  5,  'Thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
Consider  your  ways.'  He  traced  the  present  mis- 
fortunes as  principally  caused  by  a  'gambling  spirit 
In  trade,'  and  the  'too  profuse  style  of  living  for 
the  last  years.'"  The  letter  continues:  "There  is 
a  great  deal  of  Inconvenience  suffered  by  every 
one  more  or  less  for  the  want  of  'specie.'  I  luckily 
have  a  few  coppers  to  pay  my  toll,  in  case  I  go  Into 
town.  I  was  amused  to  hear  a  person  say,  who 
[  29  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

*had  been  to  have  his  hair  cut,'  that  the  man 
would  not  take  a  bank  bill  or  trust  him;  he  went 
about  to  all  the  stores  to  no  purpose  to  have  it 
changed  and  was  obliged  to  borrow  the  twelve  and 
a  half  cents." 

The  young  student  warns  his  father  not  to  take 
the  stories  that  he  hears  too  seriously;  for  there  was 
the  same  exaggeration  in  spreading  reports  by 
those  who  love  to  make  a  sensation  as  there  is  now. 
He  says:  "One  of  the  Juniors  sent  off  was  proved 
to  have  been  unjustly  dismissed  and  this  it  is 
probable  excited  somewhat  the  ire  of  his  classmates 
and  led  to  the  blowing  up  of  sundry  windows  in 
University  Hall  and  the  lower  floor  of  Hollis.  One 
Junior  has  been  since  sent  away,  whether  for  sus- 
picion of  that  I  am  uncertain,  or  for  scraping  at 
prayers,  —  the  latter  I  think.  The  President  gave 
notice  at  prayers  that  the  faculty  had  determined 
to  present  to  the  grand  jury  at  Concord  in  Decem- 
ber the  names  of  such  as  they  had  reason  to  think 
connected  with  the  explosions,  unless  a  full  con- 
fession should  be  made  before  that  time.  The 
evening  after  this  there  was  an  explosion  louder 
than  before.  This  is  all  (except  one  evening  some 
noise  at  prayers)  that  has  taken  place  and  prob- 
ably little  more  will  come  of  it.  The  blowing  up 
[  30] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

many  think  very  foolish,  as  it  will  only  increase 
the  term  bills  of  each  student,  the  expense  being 
divided  among  the  whole." 

There  were  similar  disturbances  some  years 
later;  as  in  1846  he  writes:  "Sanger  says  the  Cam- 
bridge 'city  watch'  has  been  of  great  service  in 
keeping  good  order  in  the  place.  The  watch  do  not 
scruple  to  break  into  a  room  of  carousing  law  stu- 
dents at  night  if  they  are  disturbing  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

There  is  certainly  more  than  one  kind  of  pleas- 
ure to  be  found  in  reflecting  on  "the  good  old 
times." 

In  that  period  before  the  days  of  the  elective 
system,  the  Freshmen  had  stiff  courses;  William 
writes  on  September  13,  1836:  "Yesterday  we 
recited  our  lessons  as  usual.  In  Herodotus  at  ten, 
in  Livy  at  eleven,  in  geometry  at  two  p.m.  To-day, 
instead  of  Herodotus,  we  recited  in  Buttman's 
Greek  Grammar,  which  I  have  bought.  We  get  a 
lesson  I  believe  every  Tuesday  in  it.  On  Thursday 
we  recite  in  Grecian  Antiquities,  which  I  have  also 
got.  To-morrow  {in  locum  Livii)  we  recite  in 
Zumpt's  Latin  Grammar." 

But   as   usual   his   letters   are   interspersed   by 
lighter  touches.    He  says  in  the  same  letter:  "If 
[  31  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

you  have  time,  and  think  it  worth  while,  you  may 
get  two  mats  to  send  by  the  baggage  wagon,  one 
to  put  In  the  entry,  and  another  by  my  room. 
I  find  the  absence  of  them  a  more  serious  incon- 
venience than  mother  will  believe  when  she  reflects 
upon  the  mud,  that  sometimes  crept  onto  the 
Brussels  carpet,  suspected  of  having  found  its  way 
in,  under  the  passport  of  my  boots." 

A  few  days  later  he  writes:  "I  should  like  some 
more  money,  in  case  I  get  shovel,  poker,  broom, 
etc.  I  got  rid  of  one  dollar  with  great  ease,  by  just 
stopping  at  the  dentist's  a  few  minutes.  If  every 
tooth  in  my  head  will  sell  for  a  dollar,  I  am  worth 
more,  after  all,  than  I  ever  imagined." 

A  little  later  in  the  same  year,  October  5,  1836, 
it  is  interesting  to  note  that  he  says  in  writing  to 
his  father:  "I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  make  good 
your  stand  against  the  [Salem]  tunnel,  and  that  the 
'experiment'  may  not  begin  with  us." 

He  goes  on  to  say:  "A  week  ago  on  Tuesday, 
I  heard  Mr.  Adams's  eulogy  on  Madison,  or  parts 
of  it,  for  there  was  such  a  crowd  at  the  Odeon, 
that  I  could  hardly  get  in.  The  procession  looked 
very  well,  with  two  bands  of  music,  behind  and 
before.  I  liked  Mr.  Adams's  closing  words  very 
much  where  he  drew  a  comparison  between  the 
[  32  ] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

present  and  former  times,  and  the  different  duties 
incumbent  on  men  of  the  present  day." 

The  next  week  he  writes:  "I  should  like  to  have 
you  send  a  copious  set  of  ancient  maps.  I  find  such 
a  thing  a  great  'desideratum'  in  my  Latin  and 
Greek  lessons.  If  mother  is  about  'commencing 
operations'  in  regard  to  my  winter  coat,  let  it  be 
a  frock,  as  I  think  it  much  warmer  and  more  com- 
fortable for  cold  weather.  I  am  in  want  again  of 
a  good  umbrella;  you  recollect  the  last  one  you 
gave  me  as  a  New  Year's  present,  was  made  way 
with,  while  I  was  absent  at  Methuen,  the  loss  of 
which  was  my  misfortune  rather  than  my  fault. 
The  ancient  green  one  of  Emily's  is  here.  I  meant 
to  have  told  you,  when  you  were  here,  that  Don- 
negan's  lexicon  that  you  got  in  Boston  has  several 
pages  left  out  in  the  body  of  the  work,  among 
the  deltas.  It  is  not  much  inconvenience,  but 
I  thought  I  would  tell  you,  that  it  might  lessen 
some  of  your  pride  at  having  made  a  good  bar- 
gain." 

Cambridge,  October  13,  1836. 

There  has  been  but  little  variety  in  the  week, 
excepting  the  conflict  of  the  elements  on  yesterday, 
which  in  their  capers  shook  our  windows  most  lus- 
l  33  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

tlly,  and  drew  forth  from  one  of  our  blinds  the 
most  piteous  sighs  and  wailings,  that  I  ever  re- 
member to  have  heard  a  blind  utter.  I  am  much 
indebted  to  the  author  of  the  cake  and  gingerbread 
that  came  last  week,  as  also  to  the  gatherer  of  the 
pears.  The  former,  I  reflect  upon  with  pleasure, 
the  latter  I  continue  to  "anticipate  much  pleasure" 
in  discussing. 

Cambridge,  November  13,  1836. 
My  dear  Mother,  — 

Frank  heard  from  his  "folks"  who  were  all  well, 
except  Miss  Mary  Emery  who  had  come  near 
burning  up.  His  mother  said  that  she  was  taking 
something  out  of  the  stove,  when  her  dress  caught 
fire,  and  she  screamed  for  water,  but  the  black 
woman  who  was  washing,  losing  the  small  quantum 
of  sense  that  she  was  at  other  times  blessed  with, 
went  out  after  clean  water  (the  woman  was  gen- 
erally a  great  slut) ;  the  girl  in  the  other  room  made 
a  cry  which  brought  down  Mr.  Soule  and  his  wife, 
when  the  fire  was  put  out  by  a  pail  thrown  by 
Mr.  Soule.  They  thought  it  quite  wonderful  that 
she  escaped  as  she  did,  for  her  clothes  were  almost 
all  burned.  I  would  not  have  detailed  this  at  such 
length,  but  that  it  illustrates  the  advantage  of 
[34] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

always  going  after  clean  water,  for  who  would 
think  of  throwing  water  from  a  washtub  upon  a 
lady! 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Cambridge,  February  24,  1837. 

We  were  examined  on  Monday  in  Herodotus 
(fifth  and  sixth  books).  You  said  you  should  like 
to  hear  how  the  examinations  were  conducted.  The 
second  and  third  divisions  (which  only  were  exam- 
ined), were  divided  alphabetically  into  four  sec- 
tions, making  six  or  seven  in  each.  These  came  in, 
the  first  at  nine,  next  at  ten,  eleven,  and  twelve, 
etc.  G.  S.  Hillard  and  Mr.  Cunningham  were 
among  the  examiners.  There  were  six  of  these,  I 
believe.  The  examination,  Very  told  us,  was  spoken 
very  well  of  by  the  committee. 

Cambridge,  March  24,  1837. 
Friday  morning. 

Wednesday  afternoon  we  were  examined  in 
Algebra,  by  the  same  committee  that  examined  us 
in  Geometry.  Each  one  was  called  upon  to  do  one 
sum  at  the  blackboard. 


[35] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Cambridge,  April  28,  1837. 
Friday  morning. 

Our  table  consists  of  twelve  —  eight  were  the 
usual  number  at  one  table  in  commons.  Names: 
Bond,  Capen,  Crafts,  Davis  (Ch.  G.),  Henk, 
Kimball,  Peirson,  Russell,  Sanger,  Smith,  South- 
worth,  White. 

Wednesday,  July  12,  1837. 

On  Monday  we  were  examined  in  Thucydides, 
and  shall  have  another  examination  on  Friday  in 
Brutus,  and  no  recitations  after  Saturday  morn- 
ing, Monday  being  Exhibition,  and  Tuesday  Class 
Day.i 

William  continues:  "Yesterday  afternoon  our 
class  were  examined  in  Analytic  Geometry  by  the 
same  committee  as  before.  I  do  not  hear  how  the 
examination  was  liked  by  the  committee  yester- 
day, but  Mr.  Pierce  has  more  than  once  said  to 
different  persons  that  it  was  the  best  class  in 
Mathematics  that  he  ever  had,  decidedly.  Pro- 
fessor Channing,  to  whom  we  have  begun  to  recite 
this  year,  says  very  much  the  same  in  regard  to  his 
department  —  that  the  average  mark  for  our  reci- 

^  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Class  Day  came  on  Tuesday  in  1837, 
just  as  it  did  again  in  1912,  when  it  was  considered  such  a  departure 
from  an  old  custom. 

[   36  1 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

tatlons  in  Rhetoric  Is  higher  than  with  any  former 
class  he  recollects." 

Notwithstanding  the  young  student's  Interest 
In  his  studies,  he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  spirit  of 
the  times,  and  his  many-sided  nature  was  open 
to  widely  different  Impressions.  After  hearing  a 
famous  preacher  of  the  time  he  writes:  "Sunday 
Mr.  Ware  preached  all  day,  and  yesterday  [Fast 
Dayl  we  had  but  one  service,  and  to  be  sure  and 
split  the  day,  and  not  slight  either  forenoon  or 
afternoon,  that  began  at  twelve  o'clock." 

He  went,  besides,  to  a  course  of  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson's  lectures  In  which  he  was  greatly  Inter- 
ested. He  also  writes  enthusiastically  of  going  to 
hear  Edwin  Forrest:  "Wednesday  evening  I  heard 
Forrest  In  'Macbeth'  and  was  much  gratified  by 
what  I  saw  of  him.  I  read  the  play  before  hearing 
it,  but  I  do  not  think  It  lost  much  Interest  on  that 
account.  When  he  saw  Banquo's  ghost,  and  when 
he  heard  that  'BIrnam  woods  were  coming,'  he 
showed  more  feeling  and  raved  more  than  I  could 
have  thought  possible.  However,  the  principal 
Interest  was  owing  to  him,  and  I  do  not  feel  as 
though  I  should  care  about  going  in,  unless  when 
such  an  uncommon  actor  Is  there,  and  then  I  see 
not  why  it  may  not  be  of  benefit  to  any  one." 
I  37  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

In  the  summer  vacation  of  1837  William  took  a 
trip  to  Quebec  and  Montreal  with  his  father.  He 
thus  describes  it: —   / 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Lake  Champlain,  Monday  afternoon, 
August  21,  1837. 

Our  first  afternoon  and  evening  [at  Quebec]  were 
chilly  and  stormy,  and  the  letter  we  wrote  to  you 
did  much  toward  enlivening  us.  We  were  quite 
sorry  that  we  missed  the  mail  of  that  day  in  send- 
ing the  letter,  when  we  found  it  must  be  five  days 
or  more  before  it  reached  you.  We  had  intended 
to  leave  Quebec  that  evening,  but  not  knowing 
that  any  boat  would  go  we  were  contented  to  wait 
another  day,  and  hear  the  Governor's  speech  at 
the  opening  of  the  Legislature.  The  next  morning 
about  nine  we  called  for  Mr.  DeBleury,  who  took 
us  over  the  new  Parliament  House  which  we  were 
much  pleased  with,  as  being  both  handsome  and 
convenient.  From  its  top  we  had  a  very  good  view 
of  the  city.  We  then  again  attended  the  parade 
and  music,  fell  in  with  Colonel  Beard  to  whom 
father  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Freer,  and  found 
him  a  kind  and  polite  old  gentleman.  He  took  us 
into  the  citadel,  from  the  highest  point  of  which 
[  38] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

we  had  a  most  grand  and  commanding  view  of  the 
city  and  whole  adjacent  country  with  the  St. 
Lawrence  winding  up  and  down,  and  sparkling  in 
the  sun.  .  .  .  The  [Council]  room  was  quite  a  small 
one,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  people  were  accom- 
modated, but  as  soon  as  they  complete  the  Parlia- 
ment House,  it  will  be  otherwise.  After  waiting  a 
short  time  the  Governor  rode  up  in  a  splendid 
barouche  with  four  white,  prancing  horses;  a 
driver  in  white,  trimmed  with  red,  and  two  finely 
attired  footmen.  He  was  escorted  by  a  band  and 
the  military.  He  came  into  the  room  in  his  feath- 
ered hat  and  military  dress,  and  then,  after  the 
Chief  Justice  had  formally  given  the  Governor's 
orders  that  the  other  branch  (the  Assembly) 
should  come  in,  and  they  were  present,  he  read  off 
his  speech  (a  short  one  too)  and  then  the  Chief 
Justice  read  the  same  in  French.  The  speech  was 
thought  a  mild  and  conciliatory  one  —  but  the 
Assembly  are  at  present  bent  on  having  their  way, 
and  it  is  not  thought  they  will  at  all  harmonize 
with  the  Council,  and  therefore  there  will  be  no 
session,  of  any  consequence.  The  Assembly  is 
elective,  of  which  Papineau  is  Speaker;  the  Council 
appointed  for  life  by  the  Governor. 
The  John  Bull  left  Quebec  at  six  p.m.  and  we 
[  39] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

had  quite  a  pleasant  sail  in  the  moonlight  and  sun- 
set. We  saw  much  to  excite  our  admiration  and 
astonishment  at  Quebec.  The  houses  and  streets 
are  different  from  anything  we  had  before  seen,  the 
dogs  harnessed  in  little  carts,  sometimes  filled  with 
milk,  or  with  little  fellows  whipping  them  onward. 
The  houses  of  both  Montreal  and  Quebec  being 
roofed  with  tin,  present  a  very  striking  appearance 
to  one  who  sees  these  cities  for  the  first  time. 

On  September  15,  1837,  my  father  gives  an 
account  of  his  studies  for  the  Sophomore  year: 
"  Since  I  returned,  my  time  has  passed  with  great 
sameness,  though  my  studies  and  hours  of  recita- 
tion have  been  in  a  measure  changed.  Of  these 
perhaps  you  may  like  to  hear  a  few  words.  We 
continue  one  more  year  with  Mr.  Pierce  and  recite 
to  him  immediately  after  prayers  on  Saturday  and 
Monday  mornings,  and  two  hours  before  evening 
prayers  on  Tuesday  and  Thursday  afternoons,  at 
present  at  four  p.m.  The  book  we  are  now  upon  is 
Analytic  Geometry,  and  we  are  just  in  *  Conic  Sec- 
tions.' To  Professor  Channing  we  recite  at  present 
in  Campbell's  'Philosophy  of  Rhetoric'  at  eleven 
o'clock  Monday  and  Wednesday  mornings,  half 
the  class  reciting  at  ten,  the  other  half  at  eleven, 
[40] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

being  divided  alphabetically.  We  have  not  yet 
begun  to  write  translations  or  themes,  but  shall 
begin  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  so,  handing  one  in 
to  Professor  Channing  every  other  Saturday.  To 
Dr.  Beck  we  recite  (third  division)  at  eleven  o'clock 
on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Fridays,  and  to 
Professor  Felton  on  the  same  days  at  nine  o'clock. 
Besides  this  we  have  a  recitation  every  Wednesday 
at  eight  o'clock,  in  Greek  or  Latin,  alternately. 
We  recite  in  Horace  to  Dr.  B.  and  in  the  Odyssey 
to  Professor  F.  On  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Fri- 
day, the  section  that  I  am  in  (composed  of  some 
of  the  class  who  have  studied  French  elsewhere), 
recite  to  Mr.  Sales  at  five  p.m.  At  present  we  are 
studying  Proverhes  Grammatiques,  and  the  Gram- 
mar, and  writing  a  short  exercise  for  each  recita- 
tion." 

On  March  21,  1839,  he  writes  from  Cambridge: 
"  I  think  the  tenour  of  my  letters  is  too  egotistical, 
but  how  can  I  help  it?  Though  there  are  a  thousand 
things  that  would  interest  you  as  much,  there  are 
few  matters  that  fall  under  my  observation,  except 
those  in  which  I  figure  myself,  and  your  asking  me 
to  tell  you  what  I  have  been  doing  or  planning 
must  be  my  apology  for  going  into  such  details. 
I  41  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

But  this  letter  must  vary  its  tone  a  little.  So  let 
me  send  you  into  the  old  Watertown  burying 
ground  (just  beyond  Mount  Auburn),  where  you 
might  have  seen  me,  on  the  last  beautiful  Sunday 
morning,  engaged  in  copying  the  following  inscrip- 
tion which  I  there  came  across. 

"'Pious  Lydia,  made  and  given, 
By  God,  as  a  most  meet 

Help  to  John  Bailey 

Minister  of  ye  Gospel. 

Good  betimes,  Best  at  last. 

Lived  by  Faith.    Died  in  peace. 

Went  off  singing.    Left  us  weeping. 

Walk't  with  God  till  translated. 

In  ye  39  yeare  of  her  age 

April  ye  16.     1691  ; 

Read  her  epitaph. 

In  Proverbs  31.  10.  11.  12.  28.  29.  30.  &  31.* 

"The  inscription  was  recut  in  1821,  so  that  it 
was  quite  distinct.  By  her  side  (Pious  Lydia's) 
lies  the  veritable  John  Bailey  himself,  whose  chief 
characteristic  (among  many  others)  is  that  of 

*A  painful  preacher,' 

whence  I  apprehend  his  favorite  topic  must  have 
been  (as  was  said  of  another)  the  'eternity  of  hell 
torments.'  I  took  the  walk,  before  alluded  to,  with 
Stephen  Phillips." 

[42] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

Saturday,  May  1 8,  1839. 

My  dear  Father,  — 

I  write,  in  a  great  hurry,  to  tell  you  about  next 
exhibition  in  July,  the  last  Wednesday  in  the  term, 
you  being  more  nearly  interested  in  my  success 
than  anybody  here,  or  elsewhere.  I  have  a  Latin 
oration,  the  first  part  in  order  in  the  exhibition, 
not  what  I  should  like,  but  yet  I  must  perform  it. 
Please  suggest  any  subject  you  may  think  of,  and 
send  it  next  week.  I  don't  promise  to  take  it,  but 
I  should  like  your  opinion  on  the  subject.  Henk 
has  the  English  oration,  of  course,  Peirson  an  essay. 
Clarke  has  an  English  version,  and  speaks  immedi- 
ately after  me,  second  in  order.  Frank  Parker  also 
has  a  Greek  Dialogue  with  Hoffman,  so  you  see 
there  are  several  people  whom  you  know  that  have 
parts.  The  pleasantest  thing  connected  with  the 
whole  is,  that  it  does  not  occur  on  your  Probate 
Day. 

In  haste  your 

deadlanguage  son 

Wm:  O.  White. 

Twelve  minutes  are  allowed  me. 
[43  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

He  spent  a  part  of  his  winter  vacation  in  the 
year  1840  in  Springfield,  and  writes:  — 

Springfield,  January  20,  1840. 
Soon  after  dinner,  J.  E.  called  in  an  open  sleigh, 
and  asked  me  to  join  him  in  a  ride  to  Chlcopee, 
where  he  had  business.  I  knew  it  was  cold,  but 
thought  I  would  like  the  variety  of  a  ride,  and 
assented.  But  the  mercury  must  be  thousands  of 
degrees  higher,  and  the  Captain's  old  donkey 
twenty  times  fleeter,  before  I  get  caught  in  such  a 
scrape  again.  I  should  have  believed  I  was  on  the 
Lapland  snows,  but  oh!  the  Laplanders  have  the 
nimble  reindeer  to  hurry  them  across  the  snow, 
and  are  not  borne  by  dotard  donkeys,  at  a  funeral 
pace  across  the  wilderness. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Cambridge,  April  24,  1840. 

This  fine  weather  will  tempt  you  to  take  some  of 
the  family  on  a  visit  to  Cambridge,  ere  long,  I  dare 
say,  and  every  day  (Thursdays  excepted)  I  shall 
be  happy  to  wait  upon  you.  You  can  stroll  about 
the  College  grounds,  and  see  where  trees  have 
been  decapitated,  and  annihilated,  and  trans- 
migrated; you  can  look  into  the  new  library,  and 
[  44  1 


HARVARD  COLLEGE  ' 

see  how  neat  and  handsome  the  interior  promises 
to  be,  and  the  progress  it  makes  pretty  rapidly 
towards  completion;  and  exhausted  by  your  walk, 
expend  your  remaining  strength  in  ascending  to 
my  castle  in  the  air,  where  from  the  window  of  my 
bedroom,  into  which  I  have  now  moved  for  the 
season  (and  whose  appearance  is  so  changed  by  an 
improved  adjustment  of  the  furniture,  that  you 
would  not  recognize  it),  you  shall  gaze  out  upon 
the  green  beauties  of  Prospect  Hill,  and  the  busy, 
fluttering  windmill  on  its  summit,  together  with 
the  bright  fields  and  trees  intervening,  and  then 
wheel  yourself  around,  and  see  the  hills  and  trees 
of  Watertown,  and  then  exclaim,  "My  son,  you 
are  elevated  into  a  most  etherial  sitivation!" 

People  in  this  goodly  place  have  been  somewhat 
terrified  by  repeated  attempts  at  incendiarizing, 
during  the  last  week  or  two,  and  there  is  now 
a  patrol  established  through  the  night.  Mrs. 
Craigie's  barn,  and  the  cottage  on  her  premises, 
at  a  considerable  distance  from  each  other,  were 
both  one  calm  night  discovered  to  be  on  fire,  at  the 
same  time.  The  obvious  inference  was  that  the 
fire  was  not  spontaneous  or  accidental.  As  a  few 
weeks  ago  plate  had  been  stolen  from  Mr.  Lowell's 
house,  another  inference  was  that  the  design  was 
[45  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

that  Mrs.  Cralgie's  house  should  burn,  and  peo- 
ple be  diverted  by  the  fire  at  the  cottage  from 
guarding  properly  the  house, — when  that  should 
be  plundered.  The  Universalist  meeting-house  at 
the  Port  came  near  burning  down  the  other  night. 
Shavings  were  kindled  on  the  floor  of  the  house, 
and  the  carpet  wrapped  around  them,  in  order 
that  the  fire  might  not  burst  out  till  pretty  late, 
but  people  coming  out  from  a  vestry  meeting, 
smelt  the  carpet,  and  of  course  soaked  it. 

Again  William  gives  an  account  of  his  studies, 
which  continued  to  be  of  engrossing  interest.  He 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  study  Spanish  literature 
three  times  a  week  with  Professor  Henry  W. 
Longfellow. 

Friday,  May  15,  1840. 
Last  evening  Clarke  and  I  went  In  to  join  the 
great  gathering  at  Faneuil  Hall.  We  were  early 
enough  to  secure  a  snug  corner,  in  which  we  could 
sit  as  well  as  stand,  and  where  there  was  a  cool 
breeze  playing,  so  that  our  enjoyment  was  greater 
than  It  would  have  been  if  jammed  up,  as  almost 
everybody  was,  for  the  house  was  crammed  to 
overflowing.  Mr.  Everett  began  by  saying  that 
[46] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

he  was  glad  to  see  that  "old  Faneull  had  not  pulled 
the  string  in,  on  this  occasion."  He  had  been 
requested  to  explain  the  object  of  this  meeting. 
"Explain  the  object,  why,  my  friends,"  said  he, 
"I  think  we've  got  beyond  that.  I  should  as  soon 
think  of  attempting  to  explain  to  you  the  original 
of  that  picture  which  now  looks  down  upon  you." 
He  spoke  of  the  fathers,  who  had  formerly  assem- 
bled in  that  hall,  and  who  though  we  might  not 
see  them  "with  the  eye  of  sense,"  were  present  to 
assist  and  inspire  us.  After  alluding  to  the  great 
feeling  which  animates  the  Whigs  throughout  the 
country,  and  the  encouragement  for  them  to  march 
onward  to  battle,  he  said  it  was  not  too  much  to 
say  that  "the  sods  would  heave,  the  graves  of  our 
fathers  open,"  and  (turning  to  the  Washington  on 
horseback)  "horseman  and  horse  leap  from  the 
pictured  canvas,  and  go  before  you."  He  spoke 
very  finely  for  as  much  as  twenty  or  twenty-five 
minutes. 

Mr.  E.  said  afterwards,  "the  old  coach  of  state 
would  roll  on  at  the  next  election,  driver,  or  no 
driver."  The  most  enthusiastic  exhibition  of  feel- 
ing during  the  evening  was  when  Mr.  Everett  rose 
again  after  Wickliffe,  to  introduce  some  one  else. 
W.  had  not  mentioned  E.  particularly,  he  had  been 
[47] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

condemning  the  state  generally,  but  when  Mr. 
Everett  ^  rose  they  all  seemed  to  feel  what  they  had 
lost  in  him,  and  hats,  handkerchiefs,  and  all  went 
up,  and  everybody  hurrahed  at  the  top  of  their 
lungs,  and  clapped  till  they  were  tired. 

When  he  graduated  in  1840,  William  Orne  White 
was  the  orator  of  his  class,  and  his  family  came 
from  Salem  to  be  present  on  the  great  occasion. 
His  friend,  Margaret  Eliot  Harding,  was  also  of 
the  company,  she  who  was  afterwards  to  share  his 
life  for  more  than  fifty  years.  A  paper,  preserved 
through  all  these  years  in  his  stepmother's  hand- 
writing, shows  with  what  care  she  arranged  his 
spread,  and  the  list  of  the  good  things  to  eat  brings 
the  scene  vividly  before  one's  mind.^ 

It  must  have  been  with  real  regret  that  William 
closed  this  chapter  of  his  life,  for  it  was  a  period 

^  In  1835,  Edward  Everett  was  chosen  Governor  of  Massachusetts, 
and  again  in  1836  and  1837,  failing  of  election  for  the  fourth  year  by 
the  loss  of  one  vote  in  over  one  hundred  thousand. 

*  Refreshments  at  William's  room,  Class  Day,  July  16,  1840. 

I  ham,  a  small-sized  piece  of  boiled  beef,  currant  jelly,  2  doz.  lemons, 
2  doz.  oranges,  boxes  of  strawberries,  2  do.  raspberries,  2  boxes  of 
gooseberries,  sugar,  and  cream,  5  quarts  of  ice  cream,  4  doz.  of  currant 
pound  cake,  4  doz.  of  gingerbread,  4  pans  of  sponge  cake,  4  doz.  of 
bread  rolls. 

Flowers  from  the  Botanic  garden  ^l.OO. 

Thomas's  services  very  useful.  Half  the  quantity  of  cake  would 
have  been  sufficient. 

[48   ] 


HARVARD  COLLEGE 

that  he  dwelt  on  most  tenderly  in  after  years.  How 
little  he  could  have  Imagined  then  that  he  was  to 
live  to  be  the  last  survivor  of  that  class !  How  little, 
too,  In  those  early  days  he  would  have  desired  It. 
At  one  of  his  class  reunions  he  said  how  sad  would 
be  the  lot  of  the  last  survivor  of  the  class  and  how 
little  one  would  desire  to  have  that  fate.  Where- 
upon some  of  his  companions  said,  "I  don't  know 
about  that." 

A  fragment  was  found  among  his  papers  con- 
taining a  part  of  the  notes  for  a  speech  that  he 
evidently  made  at  one  of  his  class  dinners,  In  which 
he  gives  a  vivid  description  of  the  teachers  of  those 
days :  — 

"If  the  name  of  Harvard  still  stands  out  bright; 
If  we  can  spell  out  the  names  In  some  old  Latin 
Quinquennial;  if  these  groves  and  halls,  and  the 
dear  friends  and  teachers  associated  with  them  still 
linger  in  our  minds,  surely  we  might  dream  our 
lives  away  under  far  less  happy  auspices. 

"If,  among  the  thickening  shadows,  forms  like 
these  flit  across  our  vision,  —  Quincy,  the  magnif- 
icent; Felton,  ever  genial  and  loving;  Channing, 
guarding  the  well  of  English  undefiled;  Longfellow, 
the  young  Apollo  that  he  was;  Very,  his  "rapt  soul 
sitting  in  his  eyes";  Sparks,  of  Websterian  mien; 
[49] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Walker,  in  all  his  pulpit  majesty;  together  with 
hosts  of  dear  companions  inseparably  associated 
with  these  haunts,  —  while  among  them  Alma 
Mater  herself  should  seem  to  be  personified,  we 
need  not  fear  to  follow,  as  we  see  her  pointing  out 
the  distant  goal  toward  which  these  pilgrims  are 
still  pressing,  and  seeming  to  say,  'Sic  itur  ad 
astral' '' 


CHAPTER  IV 

EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

1 840-1 845 

My  father's  health  had  been  somewhat  enfeebled 
by  his  five  continuous  years  of  hard  study,  and 
he  had  always  shown  such  good  judgment  in  his 
plans  for  himself  that  his  father  consented  to  an 
indefinite  foreign  trip,  which  lasted  longer  than 
either  of  them  expected,  for  he  was  away  from 
home  two  years. 

This  is  the  first  letter  that  I  find  concerning 
his  voyage  to  India  with  Mr.  Henry  F.  Bond. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Springfield,  July  24,  1840. 

...  I  am  very  well  satisfied  with  the  result  of 
your  interview  with  Captain  Perry.  The  more  I 
thought  of  the  plan,  the  less  I  thought  I  should 
like  it,  as  long  as  there  was  a  chance  of  going  after- 
wards with  Bond.  As  to  the  latter's  being  an 
invalid  companion,  I  suppose  he  is  just  about  as 
much  of  an  invalid  as  I  am,  and  very  little  more.^ 

^  One  of  these  two  "invalids"  lived  to  be  eighty-eight  and  the 
other  ninety  years  old. 

[  SI  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Dr.  Jackson  thought  a  sea-voyage  would  be  an 
excellent  thing  for  him.  Yet  even  if  Bond  were 
not  at  all  in  health,  I  should  hardly  think  it  a  rea- 
son for  taking  a  separate  vessel.  As  it  is,  since 
he  has  failed  once  in  trying  to  secure  a  vessel  for 
him,  and  I  also,  once,  in  trying  to  secure  one  for 
me,  I  trust  that  it  is  fated  that  we  shall  be  more 
successful,  by  and  by,  when  we  try  together,  and 
succeed  in  getting  one  that  will  take  us  both. 

Mr.  White  and  Mr.  Bond  took  passage  in  the 
Damariscotta,  where  Mr.  Bond  was  engaged  as 
supercargo.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  pas- 
sage money  for  the  long  voyage  to  Calcutta  was 
only  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

They  sailed  on  September  7,  1840.  The  first 
chance  to  send  a  letter  home  occurred  when  they 
were  nineteen  days  out,  when  they  met  the  barque 
Olive  and  Eliza  of  Portsmouth.  In  after  years  my 
father  wrote:  "I  well  recall  the  thrill  which  our 
United  States  flag  (flung  out  from  our  barque) 
gave  me.  We  had  a  country^  even  out  there  on 
the  ocean." 

The  long  voyage  of  nearly  five  months  was  un- 
eventful and  monotonous,  and  their  food  was  not 
all  that  could  be  desired;  for  their  "American  cap- 
[  52] 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

tain  saved  two  of  his  four  barrels  of  flour  to  sell 
in  India,  thus  letting  his  passengers  taste  fresh 
bread  but  once  a  month  for  a  day  or  two  during 
the  voyage."  My  father  found  much  to  enjoy, 
however,  for  he  did  not  have  a  seasick  moment, 
and  he  had  always  had  an  especial  fondness  for  the 
sea  in  all  its  phases.  He  took  a  large  chest  of  books 
with  him,  and  spent  much  of  his  time  in  reading. 
Nevertheless,  I  think  it  must  have  been  with  some 
satisfaction  that  he  saw  the  coast  of  India  appear- 
ing in  the  distance.  They  reached  Kedgeree,  fifty 
miles  from  Calcutta,  on  January  21,  1841. 

The  two  young  men  parted  company  at  Cal- 
cutta, Mr.  Bond  making  the  return  voyage  with 
the  Damariscotta,  while  my  father  took  passage 
in  the  brig  Telegraphe  for  France.  The  first  point 
at  which  he  touched  was  the  Island  of  St.  Helena. 

One  of  the  residents  upon  whom  he  called  thus 
wrote  of  him:  "There  was  a  son  of  Judge  White's 
here  the  day  before  yesterday,  on  his  way  to 
France  from  Calcutta.  We  were  much  pleased 
with  him,  and  regretted  his  stay  was  so  short;  he 
remained  here  about  six  or  seven  hours." 

My  father  writes:  "Well  do  I  recall  that  day  in 
St.  Helena :  the  languishing  buildings  at  Longwood : 
the  still  open  grave  whence,  some  four  months 
I  53  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE  " 

previous,  the  remains  of  Napoleon  had  been 
taken  to  France:  my  horseback  ride  of  a  few  hours, 
and  the  soughing  of  the  pines,  etc.,  reminding 
me  of  the  sound  of  the  waves;  also  my  halting  in 
my  English  at  Consul  Carroll's  in  my  talk  with  a 
lady,  so  habituated  had  I  become  to  talking  in 
French  on  the  French  brig  Telegraphe." 

His  French  stood  him  in  good  stead,  for  on  his 
arrival  in  France  when  he  heard  a  cabman  say, 
"He's  a  foreigner,  we'll  charge  him  double,"  he 
was  able  to  reply,  *'I  may  be  a  foreigner,  but  I 
have  not  been  on  this  boat  all  this  time  for  noth- 
ing." Whereupon,  the  man  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
laughed  merrily,  and  came  down  to  the  normal 
charge. 

In  the  summer  of  1841  he  took  a  trip  through 
Switzerland  where  he  greatly  enjoyed  mountain 
climbing.  Years  after  he  writes:  "Perhaps  the 
grandest  instantaneous  burst  of  scenery  I  ever  wit- 
nessed was  in  August,  1841,  when,  like  the  throw- 
ing up  of  a  curtain,  at  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road 
from  Dijon  to  Geneva,  the  blue  lake  and  the 
whole  extended  Mont  Blanc  chain,  glittering  in 
the  afternoon  sunlight,  was  disclosed  to  us  be- 
clouded ones.  My  French  companions  smote  the 
diligence  and  hands  and  voices  were  powerless 
[54] 


William  Orne  White  at  the  age  of  Jiineteen 


i.,a>^n/i^a/  /^u^  ^^M,onf^t>f  ^^Ma^^^^M^^  y^SMO 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

to  express  our  pent-up  feelings.  That  view  I  seem 
to  see  even  now." 

From  Switzerland  he  went  down  the  Rhine 
and  in  the  autumn  proceeded  to  Italy,  which  was 
a  storehouse  of  all  that  he  most  longed  to  see. 
Venice,  Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples  were  all 
places  of  enchantment  to  him.  His  ascent  of  Ve- 
suvius when  he  looked  into  the  crater  and  his  visit 
to  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii  made  an  especial  im- 
pression upon  him.  He  wrote  to  his  father,  "that 
would  alone  reward  one  for  a  passage  across  the 
ocean."  And  in  another  letter  he  says:  "In  May, 
1842,  Allan  and  I  ascended  Vesuvius,  coming  down 
at  midnight,  under  a  full  moon." 

From  Naples  he  took  a  French  government 
ship  for  Malta,  Alexandria,  etc.,  in  company  with 
Dr.  Henry  J.  Bigelow.  At  Alexandria  they  were 
detained  because  my  father  was  ill  with  fever. 
The  second  week  of  his  illness  he  began  to  im- 
prove so  rapidly  that  his  companion  felt  easy  in 
leaving  him.  He  grew  worse,  however,  instead  of 
better.  His  illness  proved  to  be  a  very  serious  one 
and  he  was  detained  from  January  25  to  March 
5.  It  was  fortunate  that  he  had  been  cured  once 
for  all  of  homesickness  when  he  was  away  at  school 
at  the  age  of  ten,  as  otherwise  the  situation  would 
[  55  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

have  seemed  very  desperate.  To  be  alone  in  a 
foreign  country  with  an  indifferent  doctor  and 
an  unsatisfactory  nurse  was  enough  to  make  any 
but  the  stoutest  heart  lose  courage.  But  before 
leaving  him  Dr.  Bigelow  had  called  in  Dr.  Bell, 
of  Edinburgh,  who  was  a  charming  man  as  well 
as  an  excellent  physician,"  in  consultation  with 
the  Alexandria  doctor.  My  father  writes,  "He 
would  take  no  pay,  being  in  the  British  Service 
and  waiting  for  transference  to  India." 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  Mr.  Perkins 
Shepherd,  who  was  a  friend  of  Dr.  Bigelow,  and 
Mr.  Walker,  of  Cumberland  County,  England,  in- 
vited him  to  go  up  the  Nile  to  Cairo  with  them  in 
the  covered  boat  which  they  had  engaged.  My 
father  calls  them  "as  capital  angels  of  mercy  as 
ever  lived." 

He  returned  to  Alexandria  after  an  eleven  days' 
trip,  the  ascent  of  the  highest  pyramid  being  one 
of  its  principal  features.  He  was  now  so  plump 
and  well  that  his  former  companions  hardly  rec- 
ognized him. 

One  can  picture  the  anxiety  with  which  his 
father  at  home  waited  for  further  news  of  his  ill- 
ness, but  he  was  fortunately  spared  a  knowledge 
of  the  full  extent  of  it  until  his  son  was  on  the  road 
I  56] 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

to  recovery,  for  "a  straggling,  clumsy  letter," 
written  from  his  sick-bed,  "happily  did  not  ar- 
rive till  twelve  months  later,  when  W.  O.  W.  saw 
it  opened  in  the  Salem  parlor." 

From  Alexandria  he  took  the  boat  to  Syra  and 
thence  proceeded  to  Greece,  his  study  of  the  clas- 
sics giving  him  the  keenest  appreciation  of  Athens 
and  all  the  other  historic  places  of  which  he  had 
read  with  such  interest. 

Perhaps  his  most  unusual  experience  was  a  trip 
taken  with  some  chance  companions  through 
Sicily.  One  of  these  was  Mr.  Allan,  who  after- 
wards published  an  illustrated  account  of  the 
journey,  and  the  other  was  a  young  Scotchman, 
Mr.  Drummond. 

In  writing  to  a  relative  many  years  later,  he 
says:  "Taormina,  in  1842,  I  could  only  see  from 
beneath.  My  foot  was  fiercely  lame  from  an  en- 
counter with  a  stone  in  walking  on  Ithaca  'horrid 
with  cliffs,'  as  Homer  hath  it.  So  I  looked  up, 
and  had  to  be  content  with  my  fellow  traveller 
Allan's  account  of  the  view.  He  and  I  were 
rowed  up  the  Anapas  near  Syracuse,  and  touched 
the  papyrus.  We  did  not  ascend  Pellegrino,  but 
we  went  out  to  Segesta  where  the  temple,  grandly 
placed,  exceeds  in  vastness  the  Neptune  temple 
[  57] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

at  Psestum.  Fifty-seven  years  have  scarce  dulled 
the  mental  photographs  which  Catania,  Seliaun- 
tium,  Girgenti,  Segesta,  and  Palermo  fixed;  as  In 
a  steamer,  chartered  for  the  uncle  of  the  Bismarck 
Emperor  William,  with  his  sons  and  a  few  others, 
we  touched  at  Paestum,  from  Naples,  and  skirted 
the  Island  of  Sicily." 

My  father  used  to  relate  how  he  and  Mr.  Allan 
arrived  at  a  small  hut  late  one  night  and  begged 
for  shelter.  He  described  the  alarming  motions 
of  one  of  the  men,  who  In  pantomime  seemed  to 
suggest  to  another  the  cutting  the  throats  of  these 
strangers  and  throwing  them  over  the  clIfF.  But 
it  afterwards  appeared  that  he  was  merely  sug- 
gesting the  manner  of  providing  a  substantial 
breakfast  for  them.  At  another  hut  the  woman 
gathered  her  child  to  her  to  prevent  the  strangers 
from  looking  at  the  baby  with  the  "evil  eye,"  but 
a  fuller  acquaintance  with  them  dispelled  this  fear. 

The  young  man's  most  Interesting  experiences 
came  in  consequence  of  letters  of  introduction 
to  distinguished  persons,  such  as  Miss  Joanna 
Balllle  whom  he  saw  In  Hampstead  with  her  sis- 
ters, and  through  the  friends  that  he  made  In 
traveling.  His  chance  acquaintance,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  gave  him  letters  to  his  relatives  In  Scot- 
[  58  1 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

land  which  led  to  his  .having  a  unique  experi- 
ence, for  he  stayed  at  a  castle  for  a  few  days, 
and  the  life  there,  which  included  a  day  of  hunt- 
ing, was  very  picturesque.  The  pleasant  acquaint- 
ance thus  begun  with  the  ladies  of  the  castle  led 
to  a  correspondence  at  infrequent  intervals  which 
lasted  for  many  years. 

He  continued  his  habit  of  exercise  which  he 
formed  in  Exeter,  for  he  writes  of  "walking  eight 
miles  before  breakfast  from  Stratford  to  Warwick, 
and  eight  miles  before  breakfast,  from  Salisbury  to 
Amesbury." 

He  also  went  to  the  English  Lakes  and  on  one 
of  his  walks  there  had  the  great  pleasure  of  see- 
ing the  poet  Wordsworth.  Finding  himself  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Wordsworth's  house,  he  was 
seized  with  the  desire  to  stop  and  thank  him  for 
the  pleasure  which  his  verses  had  given  him.  As 
he  went  up  the  walk  to  the  front  door,  he  saw  the 
gray-haired  poet  sitting  by  the  front  window,  and 
to  his  great  surprise  it  was  he  who  opened  the  door. 
In  those  days  visitors  from  America  were  not  so 
frequent  as  they  were  later  and  the  young  man 
was  asked  to  stay  to  supper,  a  pleasant  meal  en- 
livened by  the  conversation  of  the  younger  people. 
It  was  there  that  he  first  saw  the  very  large  straw- 
[  59] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

berries  such  as  he  had  not  seen  In  America.  It 
would  be  interesting  to  have  an  account  of  all 
that  was  said,  but  I  can  only  add  that  Words- 
worth followed  him  to  the  gate  and  wished  him  a 
prosperous  journey. 

My  father  also  greatly  enjoyed  his  visit  to  the 
Universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  Many 
years  after,  he  writes  thus  of  his  memories  of 
Cambridge  to-  a  relative  who  sent  him  a  gift  from 
that  historic  place:  "I  shall  once  more  seem  to  be 
seated  in  Old  Trinity  Hall,  and  to  hear  Professor 
Whewell  and  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  speak,  and 
to  see  Mr.  Everett,  to  whom  the  beasts  would  not 
give  a  chance  to  speak,  at  the  annual  collegiate 
dinner.  Once  more  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  with 
scarlet  gown  'all  flying  down  behind,'  will  amble 
into  town,  the  Chancellor  elect,  on  his  white  pony. 
Once  more  the  distant  figures  in  St.  John's  grounds 
will  flit  to  and  fro  in  the  lantern-lighted  grove,  as 
the  dance  proceeds,  while  I  lean  upon  the  Cam  — 
his  bridge,  and  see  the  picturesque  spectacle." 

He  sailed  from  Southampton  and  reached  Salem 
in  the  latter  part  of  September,  1842.  His  home- 
coming was  shadowed  by  the  death  of  a  little 
namesake,  William  Orne  White,  the  child  of  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Caleb  Foote.  He  got  back  just  in  time 
f  60  1 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

for  the  funeral  of  this  baby  who  had  been  born 
since  he  left  home,  and  this  must  have  been  a  deep 
sorrow  to  one  who  Hved  so  much  in  his  affections. 

In  the  autumn  of  1843  Mr.  White  entered  the 
Harvard  Divinity  School.  I  have  found  no  record 
of  what  led  him  to  choose  the  ministry  for  his  pro- 
fession, but  he  once  told  a  friend  that  the  Rever- 
end Henry  Ware  had  more  influence  over  him  in 
this  choice  than  any  one  else.  I  do  not  believe 
he  ever  considered  any  other  profession;  indeed,  as 
someone  has  said,  he  could  hardly  help  himself,  so 
numerous  were  the  ministers  among  his  ancestors. 

Mr.  G.  A.  Ward  wrote,  December  20,  1842: 
"We  are  much  pleased  to  hear  so  favorably  of 
Cousin  William's  health  and  that  he  is  preparing 
himself  for  the  Church;  five  of  his  ancestors  on 
his  mother's  side  adorned  that  profession,  at  the 
head  of  whom  was  the  'Matchless  Mitchell'  of 
Cambridge,  Mr.  Porter  of  Medford,  Mr.  New- 
man of  Rehoboth,  Mr.  Sparhawk  of  Bristol,  and 
Mr.  Sparhawk  of  Salem!" 

To  these  can  be  added  on  his  father's  side 
George  Phillips,  the  first  minister  of  Watertown. 
Still  farther  back,  on  his  mother's  side,  was 
Henry  Sewall  who  was  settled  at  Tunworth  and 
at  Baddesley  in  England.  "His  father  was  mayor 
f  61  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE ' 

of  Coventry  about  1590.  I  sailed  for  home  from 
Southampton,"  Mr.  White  wrote  to  Dr.  James 
Martineau  many  years  later,  "little  recking  that 
this  clerical  ancestor  and  Richard  Dummer,  an- 
other ancestor,  sailed  back  and  forth  again  and 
again  from  that  same  port  for  America." 

My  father  was  not  only  drawn  to  the  ministry 
by  the  deeper  side  of  his  nature,  which  made  the 
life  of  the  spirit  so  very  real  that  the  many  trials 
he  had  to  meet  were  faced  by  him  throughout  his 
long  life  as  a  minister  with  unfailing  courage  and 
unquestioning  faith,  but  his  intense  interest  in 
human  nature  and  his  never-failing  sympathy 
made  a  pleasure  of  what  is  sometimes  drudgery  to 
a  less  fortunately  constituted  nature.  To  one 
with  his  sensitive  temperament  and  acute  power 
of  suffering  with  others,  the  sadder  parts  of  a  min- 
ister's life  were  peculiarly  hard;  but  he  was  so 
religious,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  that  he 
was  always  able  to  turn  from  the  tragedies  of  suf- 
fering and  death,  and  be  equally  ready  to  share 
in  the  laughter  and  happiness  of  little  children, 
and  in  the  joy  of  young  men  and  women;  while 
throughout  his  ninety  years  his  enjoyment  in  the 
world  of  nature  and  in  books  never  flagged. 

In  his  class  of  thirteen  in  the  Divinity  School 
[  62  1 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

he  had  several  warm  friends.  Chief  among  them 
was  Henry  F.  Bond,  with  whom  he  had  taken  the 
voyage  to  India;  another  lifelong  friend  was 
George  M.  Bartol,  who  was  settled  for  fifty  years 
in  Lancaster,  Massachusetts.  Thomas  Hill  and 
John  F.  Moors  were  also  friends,  as  well  as  class- 
mates. He  had  a  pleasant  acquaintance  with  some 
of  the  men  in  the  other  classes,  including  Joseph 
Henry  Allen,  Octavius  Brooks  Frothingham, 
Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  and  Grindall  Rey- 
nolds. 

This  is  the  only  letter  that  I  find  during  the 
period  of  his  life  at  the  Divinity  School. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Cambridge,  Tuesday,  April  i,  1845. 

(No  bad  intentions  on  this  date.) 

Dear  Father:  — 

.  .  .  Hill, ^  Henry's  classmate  in  college  and  mine 
now,  gives  a  Sunday-School  address  Fast  after- 
noon, for  Mr.  Thompson's  school.  If  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do,  I  would  hear  him.  He  will 
call  on  you  and  the  rest,  Thursday.  If  it  is  before 
dinner,  he  will  repay  your  inviting  him  to  dine. 

^  Rev.  Thomas  Hill,  president  of  Harvard  College  from  1862  to 
1868. 

[63   ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

He  Is  quite  original  and  thinks  for  himself;  and 
in  spite  of  some  eccentricities,  there  is  no  young 
man  coming  forward,  whom,  for  myself,  on  the 
whole,  I  should  prefer  as  a  minister. 

He  can  give  you  an  account  of  a  sermon  we 
heard  from  Father  Taylor  Sunday  morning.  His 
chapel  was  crowded  with  as  many  as  five  hundred 
sailors  and  he  was  listened  to  most  attentively. 
He  spoke  about  the  crucifixion  and  resurrection. 
I  had  never  heard  him  before  and  was  more  struck 
than  I  thought  I  should  be.  .  .  . 

A  week  ago  to-day,  Tuesday  evening,  I  went  to 
a  party  at  Mrs.  Abbot  Lawrence's;  it  was  of  mixed 
ages  and  a  "talking  party."  So  I  enjoyed  it.  .  .  . 
Some  people  are  troubled  at  the  idea  of  the  branch 
railroad  from  Somerville,  which  will  come  (nearer 
Dr.  Palfrey's  house)  between  Dr.  P.'s  house  and 
Divinity  Hall  and  enter  somewhere  near  Cam- 
bridge Common.  The  Charter  (Dr.  Palfrey  was 
urgent  for  it)  was  obtained  this  winter,  though 
y*  Cambridge  people  rather  oppose  it.  They  are 
to  use  horse-power  from  Cambridge  to  Somer- 
ville till  they  join  the  regular  Charlestown  road. 

Our  studies  with  Dr.  Noyes  in  Interpretation 
and  Dogmatics  continue  as  last  term.  We  have 
lectures  in  Pastoral  Theology  and  exercises  in 
[64] 


EUROPE  AND  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 

Church  Polity,  etc.,  with  Dr.  Francis.  I  am  look- 
ing up  a  dissertation  (another  critical  exercise 
which  we  have)  for  Dr.  Noyes  this  week  on  "The 
errors  of  y^  early  Christians  in  the  interpretation 
of  the  Scriptures."  And  some  from  their  passion 
for  allegorizing  are  strange  enough.  One  writer 
finds  in  the  meat  which  the  ravens  brought  Elijah 
a  type  of  the  wood  of  the  Cross  which  the  Jews 
furnished  as  food  for  the  nations;  and  in  the  ravens 
a  similitude  to  those  Jews,  who  cried  in  a  harsh 
voice  all  at  once  like  ravens,  —  "Crucify  him! 
Crucify  him!"  .  .  . 

Believe  me,  in  haste,  with  love  to  Mother  and 
the  rest,  dear  father, 

Your  afF.  son, 

William. 


CHAPTER  V 

EASTPORT  AND    ST.    LOUIS 
I 846-1 847 

Mr.  White's  first  parish  was  in  Eastport,  Maine, 
where  he  preached  for  five  months.  Although  he 
went  there  in  April,  it  was  still  winter,  and  his 
description  of  the  journey  sounds  as  if  he  were 
travelling  in  the  Arctic  regions.  He  thus  writes 
to  his  father  and  mother:  — 

April  17,  '46.   Friday  Afternoon. 

I  arrived  at  Bangor  soon  after  9  a.m.  Wednes- 
day. It  was  snowing  fast.  The  banks  of  the  river 
and  the  wharves  at  Bangor  made  one  feel  as  if 
he  had  struck  upon  the  North  Pole,  so  huge  were 
the  fragments  of  ice,  as  large  as  shoemakers'  shops 
piled  along  together;  and  the  snowstorm  rather 
strengthened  the  geographical  illusion. 

The  journey  from  Bangor  to  Eastport  was  ac- 
complished by  stage,  and  he  did  not  reach  East- 
port  until  the  middle  of  the  next  night.  The  letter 
goes  on  as  follows:  — 

"The  contrast  between  my  comfort  this  morn- 
I  66] 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

ing  (I  have  unpacked  and  arranged  everything)  and 
my  lonely  groping  about  the  cold  dark  tavern  last 
night  is  very  great.  I  feel  that  I  shall  be  quiet 
here,  and  if  I  am  well,  be  likely  to  improve,  under 
the  discipline  and  responsibility.  .  .  . 

"I  have  just  looked  in  on  Mr.  K.'s  family,  only 
one  or  two  in  the  room  at  the  time,  and  have  seen 
the  church  with  him.  It  is  so  beautifully  dressed 
with  evergreens  that  it  would  do  you  good  to  see 
it.  There  has  been  no  service  there  since  a  week 
or  two  before  Christmas,  and  therefore  the  trim- 
mings remain.  There  are  many  appropriate  mot- 
toes of  Scripture  in  evergreen,  and  festoons  reach- 
ing from  one  end  of  the  building  to  the  other, 
meeting  at  the  centre,  etc.,  etc.  And  whole  trees 
stand  in  different  parts.  It  is  an  oldish-fashioned 
church.   I  like  the  looks  of  it." 

The  church  is  still  standing,  dominating  the 
view,  for  it  is  on  a  hilltop,  and  its  slender  spire  can 
be  seen  from  the  water  as  one  approaches  the 
seaport  town  of  Eastport. 

His  five  months  were  varied  by  more  than  one 
"exchange,"  for  he  counted  the  long  journeys  as 
merely  a  pleasant  variety.  In  Eastport  his  parish- 
ioners were  varied,  including  all  social  grades.  He 
had  a  hearty  and  genuine  interest  in  human  nature, 
[67] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

and  his  sympathies  went  out  to  all,  for  he  recog- 
nized character  wherever  he  found  it,  and  espe- 
cially enjoyed  his  intercourse  with  those  in  the 
humbler  walks  of  life. 

His  letters  from  Eastport  give  a  pleasant  chron- 
icle of  his  life  there;  his  sermon  writing  (he 
preached  twice  every  Sunday),  and  his  parish 
calls,  were  interspersed  with  walks  and  expeditions. 
One  of  his  excursions  had  a  disastrous  termination; 
he  writes  as  follows:  — 

Eastport,  Maine, 
Friday  afternoon,  June  12,  '46. 

Dear  Father  and  Mother:  — 

Monday,  Mr.  Tinkham  and  I  had  devoted  in 
our  minds  to  a  wagon  and  fishing  excursion  of  a 
day  to  Boyden's  Lake  and  Pembroke  some  twenty 
miles  or  more  off.  We  proceeded  six  and  a  half 
very  comfortably,  and  then  met  with  an  accident, 
which  I  mention  lest  you  may  hear  of  it,  as  some- 
thing fresh,  a  week  or  two  hence.  I  found  myself 
all  at  once  tossed  out  upon  the  ground  (we  had 
been  going  at  a  medium  rate  and  were  in  the  midst 
of  talk)  and  saw  the  horse  running  on  with  the 
fore  wheels.  I  turned  to  inquire  of  Mr.  T.  what 
it  all  meant,  and  found  him  stretched  with  his  face 
to  the  ground  insensible.  (As  I  found  afterwards 
[  68  ] 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

the  pin  or  bolt  of  the  wagon  had  come  out  —  the 
nut  falling  first  —  and  this  occasioned  the  acci- 
dent.) I  raised  him  up,  and  after  washing  the 
blood  from  his  face,  which  was  considerably 
bruised,  he  was  able  to  take  my  arm  to  a  house 
not  far  off.  But  of  the  accident  and  the  walk  he 
remembered  nothing  until  he  found  himself  on  a 
bed  in  the  house.  As  he  was  driving,  he  probably 
pulled  the  rein  as  the  horse  started  and  thus  came 
to  the  ground  with  greater  force.  I  got  a  man  to 
take  Mr.  T.  back,  but  by  that  time  he  was  so 
much  better  as  to  be  able  to  wait  till  a  blacksmith 
close  by  had  mended  our  wagon. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

June  12,  1846. 
I  preached  on  Sunday  morning  the  sermon  I 
said  I  was  writing  the  week  before  about  "sor- 
rowing not  without  hope"  and  in  the  afternoon, 
"Drink  water  out  of  thine  own  cistern,"  etc., 
which  I  wrote  some  months  ago  but  never  preached 
before.  As  the  Orthodox  minister  is  absent  for  a 
time,  several  of  his  people  were  at  meeting,  among 
them  the  Misses  Andrews,  sisters  of  the  Consul, 
who  live  here.  .  .  .  Monday  afternoon,  having  been 
shut  up  with  but  little  exercise  for  several  days, 
[69  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

I  sailed  with  Mr.  Tinkham  to  Deer  Island.  After 
landing  we  walked  three  miles  and  back,  and  had 
a  delightful  time.  The  island  was  better  culti- 
vated than  we'd  supposed,  and  we  ascended  two 
hills,  each  of  which  gave  us  beautiful  views  of 
the  bay  and  islands.  We  found  (7th  September) 
excellent  raspberries.  (N.B.  I  ate  green  peas  that 
day  at  dinner.)  Our  sail  home  was  not  so  pleasant, 
as  we  were  caught  in  the  fog,  but  we  returned  in 
season  to  take  tea  at  Miss  Andrews's  with  the 
Consul  here,  and  Mr.  Noyes's  family.  That 
morning  Mr.  Hobbs  took  me  in  a  boat  to  Campo- 
bello,  and  introduced  me  to  Captain  Owen's  wife, 
and  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Robinson.  The  captain 
was  away.  He  owns  Campobello,  and  is  a  remark- 
able character  in  his  way.  The  family  live  in  con- 
siderable style  there. 

On  September  3,  1846,  Mr.  White  received  a 
unanimous  call  to  the  pulpit  in  Eastport.  The 
committee  said  in  part:  — 

"In  the  arduous  and  elevated  position  of  their 
religious  teacher  you  have  been  alike  distinguished 
for  the  zeal,  learning,  and  great  ability  with  which 
you  have  unfolded  and  illustrated  religious  truth 
and  for  a  beautiful  and  impressive  exhibition  of 
'    [  70  ] 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

the  fruits  of  the  Christian  faith  in  your  own  charac- 
ter and  life.  k!'": 

"If,  as  they  learn  with  great  regret,  your  health 
is  such  as  to  render  it  injudicious  for  you  to  hazard 
an  exposure  to  the  rigors  of  our  winter  climate, 
they  earnestly  desire  you  to  remain  with  them 
as  long  during  the  autumn  as  you  may  deem  safe 
and  would  be  highly  gratified  to  receive  from  you 
an  assurance  that  you  would  return  to  them  in 
the  early  spring  of  the  coming  year." 

When  his  five  months  at  Eastport  came  to  an 
end,  he  decided  to  take  a  little  trip  through  the 
Provinces  before  he  went  home.  He  thus  describes 
his  leave-taking  on  September  9th  in  a  letter  writ- 
ten from  St.  John  two  days  later:  — 

"Tuesday  I  made,  morning  and  afternoon, 
several  calls  on  people  at  the  outskirts  of  the 
town;  and  in  the  evening  eighteen  on  people 
nearer,  to  whom  I  merely  said  good-bye.  I  had 
no  cause  to  complain  of  meeting  with  a  cold  re- 
ception. ...  I  left  at  eight.  Several  gentlemen 
were  at  the  wharf  to  bid  me  good-bye,  among 
them,  Mr.  Brooks,  the  young  Baptist  minister. 
I  put  up  the  'salmon  and  peas'  in  my  carpetbag, 
and  sent  home  some  dilapidated  articles  of  cloth- 
ing, by  way  of  ballast." 

[  71  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Amherst,  Cumberland  County,  Nova  Scotia, 
Monday,  September  21,  1846. 

It  was  morning  before  we  arrived  at  Digby,  as 
there  was  so  much  fog  that  the  North  America 
was  obliged  to  "lie  to"  during  the  night.  Digby 
Basin  and  the  narrow  passage  called  "Digby  Gut" 
are  quite  picturesque.  We  arrived  at  Annapolis 
at  about  9  a.m.  .  .  .  When  I  found  that  the  mail 
was  carried  in  an  open  wagon,  and  was  out  all 
night,  I  regretted  the  less  not  being  able  to  obtain 
a  seat  in  it.  I  was  unwilling,  at  the  same  time, 
to  wait  for  the  "coach"  on  Tuesday.  So  I  saw 
my  trunk  "booked"  to  go  by  the  coach,  and 
taking  a  few  articles  with  me,  I  set  out  about  half- 
past  3  P.M.  to  walk  to  Bridgetown,  fifteen  miles, 
which  place  I  reached  about  8  p.m.,  and  was  com- 
fortably entertained  at  Mr.  Quirk's  inn.  The 
afternoon  was  delightful.  The  opposite  side  of 
the  river  (Annapolis  River),  Granville,  is  very 
fertile  and  is  overhung  by  a  long  ridge  of  moun- 
tainous land  which  shuts  out  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 
The  town  of  Annapolis  is  very  much  like  a  pretty 
English  village.  I  was  much  pleased  with  it.  As 
I  had  read  about  its  eventful  early  history,  at  the 
time  when  it  was  the  key  to  both  provinces,  and 
[72I 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

changed  hands  so  frequently,  in  Judge  Halibur- 
ton's  history,  I  was  interested  in  walking  over 
the  old  ramparts.  Part  of  the  country  between 
there  and  Bridgetown  has  an  older  look  than  any 
I  have  yet  seen.  A  place  called  "Round  Hill" 
reminded  me  a  good  deal  of  parts  of  Beverly  and 
Danvers.  About  three  miles  of  the  way  I  walked 
with  a  shoemaking  apprentice,  who  told  me  of 
his  manner  of  life. 

...  At  about  sunset  (the  next  day)  I  found 
myself  by  a  blazing  wood  fire,  and  in  the  interior 
of  a  rude  house,  but  where  I  had  a  better  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  country  life  as  it  was  there,  than 
in  three  times  as  many  inns. 

That  same  autumn  Mr.  White  went  to  St.  Louis 
to  supply  Mr.  William  G.  Eliot's  pulpit,  while  he 
was  in  Europe.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  first 
began  to  write  to  Margaret  Eliot  Harding,  al- 
though they  had  known  each  other  ever  since 
they  were  children.  She  was  the  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  Chester  Harding,  the  artist,  who  was  at 
that  time  living  in  Springfield,  then  a  country 
town.  Mr.  White  used  often  to  go  there  to  visit 
his  sister  Eliza,  Mrs.  William  Dwight.  It  was 
there,  too,  that  his  beloved  cousin  Amelia,  the 
I  73  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

wife  of   the   Reverend   W.  B.   O.   Peabody,  was 
living. 

After  his  arrival  In  St.  Louis  Mr.  White  thus 
gives  an  account  of  an  adventure  he  had  on  his 
journey: — 

To  M.  E.  H. 

St.  Louis,  Friday,  November  13,  1846. 

...  I  am  tempted  half  to  doubt,  too,  whether 
you  have  not  anticipated  me  in  the  article  of  being 
snagged.  .  .  .  There  was  probably  no  danger  in 
our  case,  yet  the  apprehension  hinted  at  by  some 
of  the  boat's  ofhcers,  that  she  might  slide  back 
from  the  sandbar  upon  which  she  was  —  by  the 
action  of  the  sand  and  swift  current  —  into  the 
deeper  water  where  she  had  struck  the  snag, 
made  us  all  glad  and  grateful  to  find  ourselves 
safe  on  shore. 

There  was  something  rather  wild  and  pictur- 
esque in  the  group  that  was  gathering  about  twi- 
light on  the  sand  beach  round  a  blazing  pile  of 
faggots.  There  were  hunters  leaning  on  their  ri- 
fles; German  emigrants;  soldiers;  travellers  of  the 
more  usual  description,  and  little  children  push- 
ing their  cold  hands  In  between  the  company.  All 
were  looking  right  into  the  fire,  as  If  they  ex- 
[  74  ]    ' 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

pected  to  hear  it  say  or  do  something.  There  is  a 
singular  attraction  in  fire.  Its  drawing  people's 
hearts  and  sympathies  together  was  somewhat 
illustrated  in  the  present  case,  and  perhaps  it 
had  some  share  in  that,  when  afterwards  at  a 
neighboring  farmhouse  some  thirty  or  forty  of  us 
stretched  ourselves  on  benches  and  the  floor;  and 
a  large  wood  fire  spread  its  light  and  warmth  all 
night  long  over  the  circle.  .  .  .  There  was  another 
man  of  some  intelligence,  who  was  relieved  to 
find  that  Unitarians  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
New  Testament,  and  on  my  assuring  him  that 
they  did  not  reject  it,  he  replied,  "Then  you've 
been  very  much  traduced." 

Although  my  father  thus  makes  light  of  the 
occurrence,  I  think  it  must  have  been  this  same 
incident  which  he  described  to  me.  When  the 
boat  first  struck  the  snag  the  captain  was  abso- 
lutely dazed  and  one  of  the  passengers  took  com- 
mand. He  had  a  forceful  character  and  promptly 
decided  that  the  women  and  children  should  be 
saved  first,  sternly  keeping  back  the  selfish  men 
who  pressed  forward.  To  the  young  minister  the 
other  world  had  never  seemed  so  near.  For  a 
moment  he  had  the  feeling  that  his  life  in  this 
[75  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

world  was  to  end,  and  instead  of  having  any  fear, 
he  was  filled  with  a  glorified  sense  of  exaltation; 
he  was  sure  that  he  was  going  to  join  the  mother 
whom  he  had  longed  to  see.  Suddenly,  however, 
he  remembered  his  father  and  felt  that  he  was 
still  needed  here.  He  stepped  forward  into  the 
range  of  vision  of  the  man  who  had  taken  com- 
mand, and  was  soon  called  upon  to  take  his  place 
in  one  of  the  boats. 

He  thus  describes  St.  Louis :  — 

St.  Louis,  Monday,  November  23,  1846 
My  dear  Cousin  Nancy:  — 

St.  Louis  differs  from  Cincinnati  in  having 
forty  instead  of  ninety  thousand  people.  This 
city  has  a  sort  of  unformed  look;  buildings  are 
springing  up  in  every  direction  and  yet  some  parts 
of  it  look  pretty  old.  The  population  in  1830  was 
between  six  and  seven  thousand.  .  .  .  Fourth  and 
Fifth  Streets  in  St.  Louis  are  wider  than  any  Bos- 
ton streets,  and  have  many  fine  residences  upon 
them.  .  .  .  The  church  here  has  a  Grecian  front. 
There  are  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  to  three 
hundred  people  in  the  morning;  in  the  afternoon, 
it  is  always  thin.  They  all  seem  devotedly  at- 
tached to  Mr.  Eliot.  .  .  . 

[76I 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

To  M.  E.  H. 

St.  Louis,  Monday,  January  ii,  1847. 

...  I  spoke  of  Mrs.  K.,  which  led  her  to  speak  of 
you;  and  she  said  that  "it  was  like  the  sun  in  a 
spring  morning  to  have  your  face  look  in  on  her, 
after  a  long  day's  confinement  at  school."  She  is 
living  in  a  comfortable  house,  though  in  plain 
style.  These  (that  is,  the  halls,  and  parlors,  etc.) 
are  not  the  "circumstances"  of  which  you  speak, 
when  you  say  it  is  easier  to  be  independent  of  them 
in  theory  than  in  practice.  I  sometimes  fancy 
that  I  have  a  sort  of  indifference  to  these  things, 
that  I  could  not  once  have  supposed  I  should,  and 
which,  if  it  exist,  is  owing  to  having  seen  in  differ- 
ent countries  so  much  real  happiness  where  there 
was  no  style;  and  to  the  influence  of  my  profession 
on  my  thoughts.  It  is  harder  to  make  one's  self 
equally  happy  among  whatever  people  one  may 
be  thrown.  This,  indeed,  should  it  occur  liter- 
ally, would  seem  to  leave  no  room  for  the  develop- 
ment of  affection.  But  to  a  certain  extent  the 
theory  is  worth  carrying  out.  I  sometimes  think 
that  the  hardest  "circumstances"  any  one  can  be 
called  to  contend  with  are  those  concerned  more 
or  less  directly  with  ill  health.  At  times  of  perfect 
health,  how  everything,  everywhere,  brightens! 
[77] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

And  yet   religious  effort  and  patience  must  do 
more,  in  the  long  run,  than  anything. 

To  M.  E.  H. 

QuiNCY,  Illinois, 
Wednesday,  March  lO,  1847. 

As  for  my  profession  —  I  enjoy  it,  but  not  being 
of  a  very  enthusiastic  nature,  I  do  not  strictly 
"find  it"  (as  you  ask)  "grow  dearer  to  me  every 
day  I  live."  I  take  this  comfort,  however,  that 
my  ideal  of  it  is  always  before  my  attainment; 
and  ever  find  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  thinking 
that  I  do  not  love  it  so  well  as  I  ought  to;  as  it  will 
give  me  something  to  be  doing  in  time  to  come; 
and  I  may  grow  warmer  rather  than  colder.  One's 
interest  must  be  very  difi"erent  in  a  settled  parish — 
or  rather  in  a  parish  over  which  he  is  settled.  .  .  . 

In  writing  to  M.  E.  Harding  April  12,  1847,  con- 
trasting his  life  in  St.  Louis  with  that  of  Eastport 
he  says: — 

"I  used  to  walk  —  generally  taking  the  same 
road  (for  it  was  as  much  as  ever  that  there  was 
more  than  one)  —  about  noon,  half  across  the  is- 
land, passing  by  the  same  too  familiar  houses, 
but  always  in  sight  of  the  familiar  sea  and  silver 
firs  and  blue  islands;  I  enjoyed  the  somewhat 
[  78  ] 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

coziness  of  the  parishional  intercourse  I  had  at 
Eastport;  here,  there  are  advantages  which  there 
were  not  there.  The  "field"  in  preaching,  at 
least,  seems  larger.  Men  probably  have  more 
temptations.  Then  there  is  more  to  excite  the 
mind;  more  to  catch  the  eye  abroad;  I  have  seen 
no  place  that  would  be  exactly  to  my  mind,  to 
pass  my  life  in.  But  I  feel  more  and  more  as  if 
it  would  not  make,  comparatively,  a  very  great 
difference.  One  place  will  have  advantages  that 
are  denied  another;  and  there  ought  to  be  some 
"crook  in  the  lot,"  or  everything  would  be  so  fine 
as  to  become  insipid. 

The  peach  trees  have  been  since  4th  April  com- 
ing into  full  blossom,  and  now  the  plum  trees  are 
coming  along  too.  The  grass  is  beautifully  green 
just  outside  the  city.  I  think  I  never  saw  more 
luxuriant  verdure  so  widely  spread. 

To  M.  E.  H. 

St.  Louis,  April  25,  1847. 

In  taking  a  ride  just  outside  the  town  yester- 
day, the  beautiful  landscape  showed  such  a  con- 
trast with  the  dry  city  that  it  seemed  as  if  no 
painting,  were  it  ever  so  costly,  could  give  one 
greater  pleasure.  And  yet  this  scene  was  hidden 
[79I 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

to  the  great  majority  of  the  citizens.  Why?  Be- 
cause they  would  not  be  at  the  pains  (it  was  within 
the  compass  of  no  weary  walk)  of  putting  them- 
selves in  the  way  of  seeing  it.  And  yet  I  aver  that 
in  point  of  happiness,  at  that  moment,  there  was 
as  decided  a  preponderance  in  my  favor  as  could 
very  well  be.  So  that  when  all  social  distinctions 
are  levelled,  there  may  still  be,  in  one  way  or 
another,  differences  in  individual  comfort  against 
which  we  cannot  provide. 

In  a  postscript  to  a  letter  written  to  his  father 
on  April  13,  1847,  from  St.  Louis  he  says:  — 

"I  take  an  additional  page  to  speak  about  flour. 
Mr.  Crow  was  speculating  (if  you  think  I  am 
going  to  talk  of  a  business  transaction,  you  are 
out)  on  the  probable  effect  to  this  country  of  the 
transfer  of  so  many  millions  of  dollars  from 
Europe  here.  He  said  that  all  the  farmers  here 
would  feel  it.  For  instance,  Indian  corn  (or  corn- 
meal,  I  am  not  sure  which)  often  had  sold  at  Fre- 
mont for  fifteen  cents;  It  was  at  thirty-five  or 
forty  there  now;  and  at  fifty-five  a  bushel  at  St. 
Louis.  I  asked  whether  it  would  not  make  the 
people  more  glad  to  support  education,  etc.  He 
thought  it  would,  in  the  end.  The  first  effect 
[  80  1 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

would  be  to  make  them  think  they  must  have 
better  houses.  When  their  style  of  living  was 
somewhat  changed,  they  would  then  see  and  feel 
the  advantage  and  necesssity  of  providing  good 
instruction,  etc.,  for  their  children.  He  thinks 
corn-meal  must  now  be  a  staple;  and  that  before 
many  years  It  may  be  Wall  Street  that  controls 
the  London  market  rather  than  London  that.  Is 
it  not  interesting  also  to  view  the  probable  effect 
on  England  of  transferring  so  large  a  portion  of 
her  wealth  to  America .''  How  will  it  fare  with 
the  tithes  —  what  will  happen  to  the  nobility 
—  must  they  not  work  —  will  they  be  able  to  hold 
such  large  estates  In  their  own  hands  .f*  All  this 
is  on  the  supposition  that  what  has  been  thrown 
out  Is  true,  that  at  any  rate,  for  some  time,  the 
great  demand  for  breadstuifs  must  continue.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Crow  thinks  the  influx  of  Germans  and 
others  will  Influence  the  decision  of  the  Slavery 
question  here,  as  they  will  all  have  a  vote;  and  be 
desirous  of  abolishing  the  institution,  In  time." 

To  M.  E.  H. 

St.  Louis,  May  lo,  1847. 

.  .  .  Just  think  of  our  running  away  on  our  trip 
with  a  Methodist  preacher's  horse,  and  a  black  boy 
f  81  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

riding  six  miles  to  recover  it!  Luckily  it  was 
Mr.  C.  that  rode  the  animal,  though  I  shared  in 
the  plunder  by  averring  that  I  thought  it  was  his. 
It  was  a  dark  morning,  and  the  host  brought  out 
the  wrong  beast.  .  .  . 

To  M.  E.  H. 

St.  Louis,  Monday,  May  24,  1847. 

I  went  on  Friday  afternoon  to  the  "landing" 
on  the  Illinois,  to  await  a  boat.  I  waited  with 
another  passenger  from  6  p.m.  till  3  a.m.  at  the 
landing  in  a  small  room  occupied  by  eighteen  per- 
sons —  workmen  on  a  boat  that  was  building. 
Snatching  some  brands  from  a  fisherman's  fire 
blazing  on  the  shore,  we  swung  them  in  the  air,  and 
the  steamboat  herald  knew  our  signal  and  sent  a 
boat  for  us.  Our  chance  for  sleeping  was  not  much 
better  than  before,  as  we  now  had  only  the  cabin 
floor  and  a  mattress.  Saturday  turned  out,  how- 
ever, to  be  a  beautiful  day  and  I  enjoyed  what  I 
saw  of  the  Illinois  River.  .  .  . 

Your  speaking  of  E.  P.'s  consulting  you  brings 
to  my  mind  a  clerk  on  board  the  boat  that  day, 
with  whom  I  was  talking,  and  who  fell  to  tell- 
ing me  about  himself,  what  he  said  he  had  told 
to  none  of  them  who  were  ordinarily  with  him  on 
[82] 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

board.  I  hope  I  was  able  to  suggest  some  thought 
which  may  help  to  make  him  more  comfortable. 
He  was  a  cheery,  kind-hearted  fellow  who  would 
pay  when  he  could  little  afford  it  the  fares  of  some 
of  the  emigrants  when  they  besought  him.  But 
he  seemed  to  make  out  that  his  life  was  somewhat 
clouded  withal.  The  incident  served  to  make  me 
feel  how  much  there  is  to  live  for,  if,  as  we  move 
about  in  the  world,  we  can  so  quickly  find  those 
who  are  better  for  our  sympathy  or  counsel. 

M.  E.  H.  TO  W.  O.  W. 

Your  little  incident  on  the  steamboat  was  a 
pleasant  one.  I  can  imagine  how  it  must  have 
happified  you  to  feel  you  had  been  able  to  cheer 
any  one  by  a  word  of  sympathy.  Like  a  true 
daughter  of  Mother  Eve,  I  wanted  to  know  what 
it  was  had  overshadowed  the  young  man's  life. 
As  you  say,  we  have  much  to  live  for.  If  we  can 
so  easily  cheer  the  sorrowing.  My  greatest  dread 
in  growing  old  is  in  the  fear  that  one's  sympathies 
may  wear  out  with  the  body.  They  ought  not  to, 
for  they  are  immortal,  but  we  so  constantly  see 
that  they  do.  ... 

Mr.  White  was  most  painfully  impressed  when 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

he  was  in  St.  Louis  by  seeing  some  slaves  sold. 
He  writes  thus :  — 

"Upon  the  steps  of  the  Court  House  in  that 
crowded  city  was  that  mother  sold.  The  helpless 
children  were  next  brought  forward  by  the  brutal 
auctioneer  with  a  heartless  jest.  When  they  too 
had  been  sold,  the  purchaser  of  the  mother  said 
that  for  the  sake  of  preventing  her  separation 
from  the  children  he  would  take  them  too  at  the 
price  which  their  purchaser  had  given.  He  was 
refused,  for  he  spoke  to  one  in  whom  the  love  of 
money  was  far  stronger  than  the  instincts  of  com- 
mon humanity. 

"Need  we  picture  the  future  career  of  those 
children,  henceforth  in  supreme  and  undisturbed 
possession  of  such  a  creature?  It  is  enough  to 
know  that  in  a  Christian  country  the  law  permits 
to  parents  and  children  such  a  living  death.  Is 
there  no  mystery  in  the  ways  of  man  as  well  as 
God.''  Are  there  no  dark  counsels  but  those  of 
Providence.'"' 

On  his  way  back  from  St.  Louis  he  went  through 
Kentucky,  West  Virginia,  and  Virginia,  visiting 
the  Mammoth  Cave,  the  Natural  Bridge,  Char- 
lottesville, Richmond,  and  other  places  of  in- 
terest. 

[84I 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

Kentucky,  Saturday,  12  June,  1847. 
The  Ohio  boats  were  all  very  much  crowded 
about  the  time  I  left  St.  Louis,  and  therefore  it 
was  peculiarly  pleasant  to  be  on  our  quiet  little 
Cumberland  craft,  the  Josephine,  with  just 
enough  passengers  sprinkled  in  separate  state- 
rooms, through  the  cabin,  to  make  the  scene 
pleasant.  ...  I  find  a  surprising  relief,  after  be- 
ing, for  months  together,  engaged  in  duties  like 
those  at  Eastport  and  St.  Louis,  in  throwing  them 
all  up,  and  being  like  a  child  among  the  birds 
and  trees.  I  hope,  wherever  I  may  be  settled,  to 
have  a  month  or  two  in  every  summer  to  play 
outdoors  in,  on  stages  or  steamboats,  or  in  the 
mountains.  .  .  .  And  now  let  me  take  up  what  re- 
mains of  time  and  paper  in  speaking  of  the  Cave. 
I  have  been  amply  repaid  by  my  visit  there.  I 
never  felt  the  reality  of  a  place  more  vividly.  I 
have  often  felt  before,  "I  ought  to  feel  so  and  so." 
"Why  don't  I  realize  this  more  .J"'  But  I  felt  the 
scene  as  much  as  I  wanted  to  here.  Mr.  Heywood 
says  it  ought  not  to  be  called  a  "cave."  I  was 
reminded  as  much  as  anything  of  my  wandering 
through  the  mountain  passes  of  Switzerland;  and 
1  seemed  to  be  there  again,  only  at  midnight  and 
groping  along  by  torchlight.  Every  now  and  then 
I  8s  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

in  the  darkness,  the  lofty  dome  of  the  cave  seemed 
to  be  the  outer  firmament.  In  one  instance,  "the 
star  chamber,"  a  room  spangled  with  crystals 
of  spar,  you  seem  to  see  the  stars  twinkling  out- 
doors. But  being  paddled  across  a  river  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  long  there,  after  having  walked  three 
miles  and  a  half,  and  having  some  five  to  walk 
after  you  crossed  it  —  is  n't  there  something  a 
little  grand  in  this?  One  might  think  of  Charon, 
"of  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,"  and 
many  things.  The  echoes  of  our  singing  guide's 
voice  swelled  finely  over  the  water;  the  crags  on 
either  side  the  water,  and  the  deep  shadows  that 
hurried  in  the  lamplight  across  them  added  to  the 
strange  and  mournful  wlldness  of  the  scene.  I 
do  not  know  when  I  have  seen  any  natural  won- 
der which  has  touched  me  at  so  many  points  as 
this.  It  was  wild  and  unearthly.  To  stand  in  the 
temple  where  three  thousand  might  be  seated  on 
the  broken  rocks,  and  see  the  whole  scene  lighted 
up  by  a  Bengal  light  for  a  few  moments;  to  think 
how  little  one  would  imagine  there  was  a  bright 
and  beautiful  world  without,  who  had  been  liv- 
ing only  down  there;  and  then  to  hear  the  black 
slave  raise  his  voice  and  sing,  at  my  suggestion,  a 
"religious  tune"  beginning:  — 
[  86  1 


EASTPORT  AND  ST.  LOUIS 

Why  do  we  start  and  fear  to  die? 
What  timorous  worms  we  mortals  are: 
Death  is  the  gate  to  endless  bliss 
And  yet  we  fear  to  enter  there! 

All  this  was  solemn.  The  first  day  I  was  eight 
hours  in  the  cave,  and  the  second  eight  and  a  half, 
seeing  different  parts. 

To  M.  E.  H. 

White  Sulphur  Springs,  Va., 
Sunday,  June  20,  1847. 

Friday  the  scenery  was  beautiful;  like  that  in 
New  Hampshire;  and  I  sometimes  thought  finer; 
though  the  Franconia  Notch  would  stay  much 
longer  in  one's  memory,  as  I  now  find.  But  I 
don't  like  these  comparisons,  else  I  might  allow 
having  seen  the  Alps  to  spoil  both;  or  not  having 
seen  the  Himalayas  to  spoil  all  three.  It  would 
be  —  this  Western  Virginia  —  a  fine  country  to 
travel  through  on  horseback.  About  4  p.m.  we 
passed  "the  hawk's  nest";  a  famous  view,  which 
Miss  Martineau  was  so  Impressed  with,  and  which 
you  may  have  heard  of.  New  River  bends  in 
some  beautiful  curves  and  foams  away,  some  say, 
five  hundred  and  fifty,  some  eight  hundred  or  a 
thousand  feet  below  you,  and  hills  and  forests 
[  87  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

are  stretching  away  above  one  another  in  the  dis- 
tance. There  is  nothing  of  the  kind  so  fine  in  this 
country. 

Washington,  June  27,  1847. 

We  reached  the  [Natural]  Bridge  just  about  sun- 
down and  had  an  hour  and  a  half  to  enjoy  it  in. 
I  was  far  from  being  disappointed  in  it;  and  felt  at 
once  that  of  itself  it  repaid  me  for  having  taken 
my  Virginia  route.  After  viewing  it  from  below, 
and  from  above,  I  took  with  another  young  man 
a  place  in  "the  car,"  which  is  safer  than  it  seems, 
and  made  the  descent  of  two  hundred  and  fifteen 
feet.  It  seemed  some  time  before  we  reached  the 
top  of  the  arch;  then  it  was  very  interesting  to 
watch  it  gradually  expanding.  About  halfway 
down  it  seemed  in  the  most  round  and  full  pro- 
portions. But  it  gradually  and  gracefully  rose  in 
height,  until  we  saw  it  again  from  the  ground. 
On  the  inside  of  the  ceiling  of  the  arch  is  the  rep- 
resentation of  an  eagle  in  the  natural  stone; 
which  seemed  interesting  in  a  national  point  of 
view.  They  show  a  lion  there  too.  The  propor- 
tions of  the  arch  are  graceful  and  beautiful;  and 
the  whole  thing  stupendous.  I  was  sorry  I  could 
not  be  there  a  day.  There  are  only  tri-weekly 
routes  on  many  of  these  roads. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARRIAGE   AND   WEST   NEWTON 
1 848-1 850 

William  Orne  White  and  Margaret  Eliot  Hard- 
ing were  married  September  25,  1848.  In  writing 
of  him  to  a  friend  before  her  marriage  my  mother 
characterized  him  as  "a  friend  whose  motives  are 
the  very  highest,  and  whose  whole  life  is  subject 
to  spiritual  laws." 

Their  first  parish  was  at  West  Newton,  where 
he  was  ordained  as  minister  on  November  22, 
1848,  "at  half-past  twelve  o'clock  at  noon." 
Although  West  Newton  was  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses so  much  farther  away  from  Boston  than 
it  is  now,  the  distance  was  easily  bridged  by  the 
many  devoted  friends  and  relations  who  came  to 
see  them,  and  in  one  of  his  letters,  besides  speak- 
ing of  several  such  visitors,  the  young  minister 
records  the  fact  that  his  wife  had  three  invita- 
tions in  one  afternoon  to  go  on  sleigh  rides,  which 
fact  "seemed  truly  ominous  of  the  decay  of  the 
sleighing." 

Their  interests  were  varied,  for  he  speaks  of  a 
[89I 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

lecture  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  on  England, 
and  of  the  meeting  of  a  geology  class.  That  same 
winter  they  had  the  great  pleasure  of  hearing 
Fanny  Kemble  read  "The  Merchant  of  Venice." 
The  hours  were  good  old-fashioned  ones,  for  they 
"were  dismissed  just  in  season  to  walk  to  our  9.30 
P.M.  cars." 

The  moving  into  their  own  house  was  a  great 
delight  to  them.  He  writes  to  his  father  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

West  Newton,  Monday,  June  4,  1849. 
We  have  enjoyed  particularly  coming  into  the 
house  just  at  this  time,  when  all  the  doors  and 
windows  can  be  opened  and  we  can  sit  down  in  any 
room  we  choose.  I  preached  at  home  yesterday. 
Next  Sunday  I  exchange  with  Edward  Hale. 

To  R.  H.  W. 

West  Newton,  Tuesday,  June  19,  1849. 

The  Parish  party,  which  took  place  the  week 
after  you  left  us,  was  very  pleasant,  and  it  quite 
filled  our  rooms.  Two  or  three  evenings  after, 
we  had  a  smaller  circle  of  friends  who  met  to  talk 
on  more  religious  things.  On  Sunday  previous, 
I  preached,  from  "And  Paul  dwelt  two  whole 
years  in  his  own  hired  house,"  upon  the  true  con- 
[  90] 


MARRIAGE  AND  WEST  NEWTON 

secration  of  a  new  home.  As  several  of  our  families 
have  but  just  come  Into  their  new  houses,  it  seemed 
to  interest  them.  .  .  . 

Our  hotel  here  is  to  be  a  Temperance  one,  cer- 
tainly for  the  season;  and  we  trust,  when  the  ex- 
periment is  fairly  made,  will  continue  to  be.  So 
all  persons  who  want  to  board  in  the  country  may 
be  well  off  there.  We  are  glad  of  the  change,  as 
the  matter  has  been  cause  of  much  discussion  at 
meetings  down  in  the  village  for  some  time. 
After  circulating,  ineffectually  so  far  as  the  new 
landlord  was  concerned,  a  paper  in  which  we 
promised  to  aid  him  so  far  as  we  could  in  getting 
boarders,  and  in  hiring  horses,  etc.,  if  he  would 
keep  a  Temperance  House,  it  was  thought  time 
(it  being  in  the  mean  time  discovered  that  he  was 
selling  liquor)  to  go  upon  another  tack.  So  an- 
other paper  was  started  in  which  we  said  we  would 
hire  no  horses  there  unless  it  should  be  indispensa- 
bly necessary;  and  that  we  would  do  what  we  could 
to  discountenance  the  place.  A  committee  was 
moreover  appointed  to  act  with  the  committee 
appointed  at  Spring  Town  Meeting  for  prosecu- 
ting infringements  of  the  liquor-selling  law.  Be- 
fore this  paper  had  run  a  very  long  round,  news 
came  that  the  new  landlord  had  pledged  himself 
[91  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

to  make  the  experiment  of  keeping  a  Temperance 
House.  He  came  here  in  fact  with  such  an  inten- 
tion, but  was  misled  by  persons  who  told  him  that 
he  could  not  get  along  if  he  did  so;  and  that  peo- 
ple would  not  be  disturbed,  if  he  merely  kept  a 
private  bar,  etc.,  etc. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

West  Newton,  31  December,  1849. 

I  heard  a  few  days  since  from  Mr.  A.  P.  Pea- 
body,  who  proposes  postponing  our  exchange  — 
on  account  of  "the  uncalculableness  of  January 
weather,  and  the  strong  probability  that  with  ice 
on  the  ferry  way,  or  some  other  obstruction,  I 
might  fail  of  the  evening  Newton  cars  —  to  the 
second  Sunday  in  March. 

If  travelling  was  a  little  more  arduous  in  those 
days,  this  drawback  was  balanced  by  it  being 
decidedly  cheaper.  My  father  thus  speaks  of 
a  journey  that  he  and  my  mother  took  to  the 
Delaware  Water  Gap :  — 

West  Newton, 
Saturday,  September  28,  1 850. 

The  drive  through  the  Gap  by  moonlight  was 
very  fine.   Although  the  Gap  was  forty-odd  miles 
farther  off  than  I  supposed  when  we  left  home, 
[  92  ] 


MARRIAGE  AND  WEST  NEWTON 

the  journey  was  accomplished  for  the  precise 
sum  I  took  with  me.  Considering  we  had  so  many 
pleasant  rides,  besides  the  car  jerking,  thirty-five 
dollars  apiece  does  not  seem  very  much  out  of  the 
way  for  a  fortnight's  absence  on  a  journey  of  be- 
tween three  and  four  hundred  miles. 

M.  E.  W.  TO  D.  A.  W.  AND  R.  H.  W. 

West  Newton,  Tuesday,  October  15,  1850. 

.  .  .  Reading,  as  you  must  have,  about  the  fuss 
at  the  Concert  on  Saturday,  I  thought  you  would 
desire  to  know  whether  we  were  there  then.  We 
were  not.  We  went  on  Friday  evening,  and  en- 
joyed it  exceedingly,  though,  perhaps,  on  account 
of  extraneous  influences,  not  quite  as  much  as 
we  expected.  Jenny  Lind's  voice  is  wonderful.  I 
would  not  but  have  heard  her  for  anything,  and 
she  is  herself  a  charming,  fascinating  person,  more 
light  and  gay  in  her  look  and  manner  than  I  ex- 
pected. We  had  quite  a  good  seat,  and  were  com- 
fortably situated  —  but  I  am  so  thankful  we  were 
not  there  on  Saturday  night.  Those  who  were 
there  describe  it  as  a  fearful  scene.  It  is  a  disgrace 
to  Boston  —  poor  Jenny  seemed  very  much  agi- 
tated, and  sent  out  word  to  the  mobbers,  those 
who  could  not  get  seats,  that  if  they  would  only 
[93  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

keep  quiet  and  depart,  she  herself  would  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  money  they  had  paid  for  their 
tickets.  This  quieted  them  for  a  while.  I  don't 
feel  in  the  least  satisfied  with  hearing  Jenny  once; 
I  want  to  go  and  live  with  her  and  hear  her  sing 
every  day  for  a  month,  and  then  I  think  I  could 
begin  to  understand  and  appreciate  her  extraor- 
dinary powers.  I  hope  some  of  you  have  heard 
her.  It  is  only  once  in  a  lifetime  such  a  nightin- 
gale visits  our  northern  shores. 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Greenfield,  May  ii. 

I  cannot  proceed  further  in  this  epistle  without 
entering  a  protest  against  my  neighbor  who  is 
reading  his  Bible.  He  read  away  last  Sunday 
afternoon  for  two  hours,  and  now  he  seems  to  be 
getting  along  under  full  sail  again.  Why  does  he 
think  it  so  much  more  edifying  to  read  every  word 
so  loud-f*  So  much  publicity,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, is  gained  by  his  procedure  that  I  do  not 
think  he  would  fall  any  more  under  the  condem- 
nation of  Scripture  if  he  read  it  "at  the  corners  of 
the  streets";  and  such  a  change  of  arrangements 
on  his  part  would  really  be  altogether  more  con- 
venient and  agreeable  to  me. 

[94I 


MARRIAGE  AND  WEST  NEWTON 

While  they  were  in  West  Newton  Mrs.  White 
had  a  call  from  one  of  her  old  Springfield  friends 
who  asked  her  if  she  did  not  "find  it  very  dull  out 
here."  She  said:  "It  was  a  natural  question,  and 
yet  it  shows  how  little  he  understands  what  makes 
the  real  happiness  of  life.  Dull,  with  my  dear  hus- 
band close  at  my  side,  with  my  dear  little  house, 
my  friends  all  around  me,  all  my  parish  duties, 
my  opportunities  for  helping  the  sick  or  the  poor! 
When  I  feel  well  and  bright  my  life  seems  almost 
a  foretaste  of  a  heavenly  one." 


CHAPTER  VII 

EARLY  YEARS   IN   KEENE 
1851-1861 

In  the  year  1851  Mr.  White  received  a  call  from 
the  Unitarian  Parish  in  Keene,  New  Hampshire. 
He  had  already  been  captivated  by  the  beauty  of 
the  place  and  the  cultivation  of  its  inhabitants, 
for  he  had  made  a  delightful  visit  there  some 
years  earlier  at  the  house  of  his  friend,  George  S. 
Hale. 

After  their  first  visit  to  Keene  Mr.  White  says 
in  a  letter  to  his  wife:  "Many  inquiries  are 
made  about  you  by  people  within  and  without  the 
house.  If  it  were  you  rather  than  I  that  had  been 
candidating,  I  should  say  that  you  had  made  a 
decidedly  successful  trip." 

He  was  settled  in  Keene,  October  i,  1851.  A 
little  before  this  event  Mrs.  White  thus  writes: 
"Every  one  greets  us  cordially,  and  my  heart 
bounds  at  the  idea  of  having  so  beautiful  a  home." 
"Oh,  how  lovely  the  valley  looked  as  we  entered 
it!"  she  wrote  a  month  later,  when  she  went  back 
to  make  Keene  her  permanent  home;  and  then 
[96] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

follows  an  account  of  the  neighborliness  of  their 
new  friends,  nine  of  their  parishioners  coming  to 
help  make  and  put  down  the  carpets.  She  says: 
"They  did  not  leave  me  until  every  carpet  was 
made  and  down  and  every  room  in  order.  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Ingersoll  came  in  the  afternoon  and  brought  me 
baked  apples  and  doughnuts,  and  in  the  evening 
Mrs.  George  Twitchell  sent  me  a  basket  of  mag- 
nificent nectarines,  peaches,  and  grapes.  William 
came  at  four,  and  the  ladies  had  his  study  all  in 
order  for  him,  stove  and  all." 

The  following  extracts  from  Mr.  White's  let- 
ters give  a  vivid  idea  of  his  various  interests :  — 

To  D.  A.  W.  AND  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  October  31,  1851. 

...  I  met  Mr.  Crosby  for  ten  minutes  at  the 
station  in  Keene  on  Monday,  and  he  said  he  had 
never  seen  a  fuller  house  in  Keene  than  on  last 
Sunday.  Mr.  Prentiss  thought  I  must  have  been 
visiting  pretty  faithfully  through  the  week,  which 
was  the  case.  I  have  now  made  upwards  of  a  hun- 
dred calls,  and  shall  soon  have  seen  almost  every 
adult  in  the  parish.  Some  of  the  men  I  have  to 
seek  at  their  stores  and  workshops.  .  .  .  The  Sew- 
ing Circle  came  out  in  pretty  good  force,  near 
[97] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

fifty  ladies  being  there.   In  the  evening  the  gentle- 
men dropped  in. 

A  little  later  in  the  year  he  writes:  — 

Keene,  Thursday,  December  i8,  1851. 

Did  you  know  that  we  in  Keene  are  nearer 
Boston  now  than  you  in  Salem  are?  It  is  so,  for 
we  have  the  telegraph  in  full  operation.  For 
twenty-five  cents  we  can  send  a  message  to  Bos- 
ton. If  you  only  had  a  telegraph  from  Boston  to 
Salem,  we  would  try  talking  together,  to  see  how 
it  would  seem.  .  .  . 

I  have  taken  to  splitting  wood  and  "bringing 
of  it  in"  lately,  which  I  find  very  good  exercise. 

.  .  .  We  expect  a  service  Christmas  Eve  accord- 
ing to  custom  in  our  church. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  March  23,  1852. 

...  I  have  been  appointed  one  of  the  "Super- 
intending School  Committee,"  the  Orthodox  and 
the  Baptist  clergymen  forming  the  remainder  of 
the  Committee.  We  have  the  examining  teachers 
and  schools  to  do.  There  are  about  fifteen  schools, 
giving  about  five  apiece.  I  shall  take  it  for  this 
year,  it  will  enable  me  to  get  better  acquainted  with 
I  98] 


Margaret  E.  White  at  the  age  of  ttventy-six 


f*  At^f.ti./€^a  /-y. 


^Lte-u^ 


7'"  '■"■" 


(^  /r^^cX^ 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

the  children.    We  receive  twenty  dollars,  which  I 
believe  will  pay  expenses. 

On  one  occasion  when  he  was  on  the  School 
Committee,  he  went  to  call  on  a  young  woman 
who  was  to  begin  to  teach  for  the  first  time  the 
following  Monday  in  one  of  the  public  schools. 
She  confided  to  him  how  she  was  dreading  it  and 
that  she  feared  that  she  should  fail  as  a  teacher. 
"Stop  right  there,"  he  said;  "you  never  will  suc- 
ceed If  you  let  yourself  feel  like  that."  And  years 
afterwards  she  told  him  what  an  incentive  his 
words  had  been  to  her.  The  fact  that  he  had  such 
faith  in  the  Inherent  power  of  human  nature  was 
what  gave  him  so  much  Influence  both  as  a  preacher 
and  a  pastor. 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Salem,  April  2,  1852. 

I  had  a  pleasant  trip  to  Boston  and  reached  the 
city  at  twenty-five  minutes  before  seven.  How 
glad  I  was  that  my  lot  was  not  cast  there!  What 
gangs  of  dirty  little  swearing  children  not  nine 
years  old  I  had  to  pass  through  on  my  way  to  the 
Eastern  Railroad!  I  should  think  Boston  people 
would  have  enough  to  do  one  of  these  days  to 
[99] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

take  care  of  them,  if  they  do  not  find  any  time  to 
do  so  now.  Having  a  half-hour  to  spare  I  took  my 
tea  in  Boston  and  reached  Salem  in  good  season 
by  the  7.20  p.m.  train.  Going  over  in  the  ferry 
was  really  exhilarating  in  the  mild  spring  evening 
with  the  moon  rolling  about  In  the  water  and  the 
good  old  salt  smell  of  the  sea  again. 

To  M.  E.  W. 

The  crocuses  in  our  garden  have  been  in  fine 
bloom  for  some  eleven  days,  the  grass  all  around 
us  is  deepening  its  green,  and  spring  has  really 
come.  Monadnock,  however,  still  keeps  its  snow, 
which  gives  quite  an  Alpine  tinge  to  our  land- 
scape, and  makes  our  fields  look  all  the  greener. 

In  commenting  on  the  business  reverses  of  a 
friend  he  says:  — 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Keene,  June  15. 

.  .  .  And  now  let  me  turn  to  what  has  been  so 
much  in  my  mind,  as  I  know  that  it  must  have  been 
in  yours.  It  is  what  we  cannot  hear  of  without 
pain,  but  I  cannot  regard  such  changes  as  "sad," 
or  "melancholy,"  or  "dreadful,"  when  there  are  so 
many  things  that  are  much  more  so.  G.  W.  says 
f  100  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

that  J.  has  the  sympathy  and  regret  of  the  com- 
munity. Where  no  loss  of  honor  or  character  is 
involved,  such  reverses  seem  but  transient,  as  in- 
deed even  in  a  worldly  view,  to  a  person  so  inde- 
fatigable as  J.,  they  must  be.  I  am  glad  to  hear 
that  he  bears  up  nobly,  and  goes  on  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  while  at  the  same  time  he  has 
shown  no  wish  to  keep  anything  back,  but  is  per- 
fectly frank  and  open  with  all  who  have  any  right 
to  know  about  the  matter.  Of  the  full  extent  of 
their  loss,  of  course  I  have  not  the  means  of  know- 
ing, but  even  if  it  involve  the  breaking  up  of  habi- 
tations, etc.,  how  much  easier  to  bear  than  if  it 
were  the  death  of  a  husband  or  wife!  Where  there 
is  true  affection,  wealth  must  seem  for  a  time  a 
thing  of  no  account,  when,  with  it,  one  cannot 
gratify  the  wants  or  the  eye  of  the  friend  most 
dear.  But  the  privations  and  the  toil  which  pe- 
cuniary troubles  may  involve,  so  long  as  two 
hearts  bear  them  together,  may  only  bind  these 
hearts  the  closer.  Our  own  comparatively  simple 
mode  of  life  may  have  led  us  to  feel  that  it  would 
not  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  poor;  and  perhaps 
this  is  the  reason  why  we  are  still  blessed  with 
enough.  It  may  be  that  our  trials  must  come  from 
another  direction.  Possibly  these  changes  may 
[  loi  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

bring  to  some  persons,  and  it  would  be  strange  if 
not  to  everybody,  a  discipline  in  the  way  of  char- 
acter which  is  "more  precious  than  gold,  yea,  than 
much  fine  gold." 

The  following  letter  was  written  to  his  nephew, 
Henry  Wilder  Foote,  who  was  afterwards  minis- 
ter of  King's  Chapel,  father  of  the  present  Rever- 
end Henry  Wilder  Foote:  — 

Keene,  June  i,  1852. 
Dear  Henry  — 

Fourteen  years  old! 

Why,  how  soon  you  must  take  your  place  among 
the  men!  When  the  time  comes  for  you  to  do  so,  I 
hope  you  will  show  yourself  a  man,  indeed.  Till 
then  you  have  enough  to  do  in  being  faithful  to  the 
duties  which  each  day  brings  with  it,  without  look- 
ing too  anxiously  forward  to  what  may  lie  beyond. 
In  determining  your  arithmetical  problems,  it  is  a 
poor  way  to  proceed,  to  jump  forward  to  the  an- 
swer, which  may  stand  printed  in  the  book,  and 
wonder  how  it  was  obtained.  The  only  way  to  do, 
you  well  know,  is  to  move  forward  step  by  step, 
and  understand  what  you  do,  till  by  and  by  you 
guide  yourself  along  to  the  answer.  Very  much  so 
it  is  with  the  answer  which  one  of  these  days  you 
[  102  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

will  be  giving  to  the  problem,  "For  what  purpose 
am  I  living  here  in  this  world?" 

Your  conduct,  the  spirit  with  which  you  enter 
into  your  occupation,  your  whole  character,  —  this 
will  be  the  answer  which  you  will  be  giving  to  the 
problem  of  life.  Be  careful,  then,  my  dear  boy,  to 
ponder  well  each  little  step  which  is  leading  you  to 
your  answer.  Be  obliged  to  retrace  no  step.  I 
think  that  you  have  tried  to  understand  the  steps 
which  you  have  been  taking,  so  far.  And  now  on 
this  June  second,  another  milestone  is  set  up  in 
your  journey.  Many  more  will  be  set  up  for  you, 
year  by  year,  I  hope^  in  this  beautiful  valley  of 
earth,  but  it  matters  not  greatly  whether  there  are 
many  more  or  not,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  pro- 
vided you  are  constantly  preparing  yourself  to 
give  the  true  answer  to  the  problem  which  God 
calls  upon  us  all  to  solve.  It  matters  not  greatly,  I 
say,  for  if  each  step  in  your  work  is  carefully  taken, 
even  though  you  be  Interrupted  In  It,  you  can  begin 
elsewhere  where  you  left  off  here,  and  arrive  at  the 
complete  answer  in  a  better  world  than  this. 

With  my  love  to  your  sister  and  to  your  father 

and  mother,  I  send  you  my  best  wishes  for  a  happy 

year,  and  with  them  this  birthday  present  which 

I  hereby  invest  you  with  the  power  of  causing  to 

[  103  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

take  whatever  shape  you  or  the  shopkeepers  may 
please. 

If  Aunt  Meggie  were  in  town,  she  would  send 
her  love. 

Your  affectionate 

Uncle  William. 

In  describing  their  first  parish  party  given  in 
honor  of  the  former  minister,  Mrs.  White  writes 
to  Miss  Hale  as  follows:  — 

September  23,  1852. 

One  night  we  lighted  up  our  house,  and  opened 
four  rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  and  invited  the 
whole  society  to  spend  the  evening,  and  the  house 
was  thronged.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how 
beautifully  the  house  looked.  We  had  quanti- 
ties of  flowers  sent  in,  and  they  were  put  every- 
where, where  there  was  a  place  for  them.  It  was 
very  pleasant  and  encouraging,  too,  to  see  how  the 
people  love  Mr.  Livermore;  there  was  a  sort  of 
festival  held  all  the  time  he  was  here.  He  preached 
one  Sunday  to  an  overflowing  house. 

William  has  been  very  well  since  we  got  back, 
and  is  enjoying  riding  on  horseback  very  much, 
this  fall.  He  has  the  occasional  use  of  the  horses  of 
two  of  his  parish. 

[  104  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 
W.  O.  W.  TO  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  October  29,  1852. 
.  .  .  The  news  of  Mr.  Webster's  illness  fell  on  us 
as  on  everybody  solemnly  and  suddenly.  The  peo- 
ple here  have  taken  it  quietly,  however.  It  seems  as 
if,  even  in  death,  the  sort  of  difference  that  existed 
between  him  and  Clay  could  be  traced.  Everybody 
must  go  down  to  Marshfield,  an  exceedingly  out- 
of-the-way  place,  who  would  see  the  dignified 
statesman  in  the  dignified  repose  of  death.  The 
grave  did  not  receive  the  body  of  Mr.  Clay  until 
it  had  lingered  at  numerous  towns  and  villages  to 
give  the  people  a  convenient  opportunity  of  pay- 
ing their  tribute  of  respect.  Had  Mr.  Webster 
died  in  the  way  Mr.  Clay  did,  had  he  taken  near 
a  whole  year  for  it,  his  departure  could  not  have 
created  the  sensation  which  it  has.  It  is  no  evi- 
dence that  Mr.  Webster  was  popular,  the  outburst 
of  regret  which  now  arises.  The  people  were  more 
proud  of  him  than  of  any  other  man,  though  they 
loved  others  of  inferior  gifts  more.  The  account  of 
his  last  hours  was  profoundly  touching.  For  his 
fame,  to  die  in  office,  and  to  die  before  men  could  be 
wonted  to  the  thought,  and  just  when  nothing  but 
a  retirement  of  chagrin  was  before  him  —  is  just 
the  most  desirable  thing.  But  if  he  had  died  three 
[  105  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

years  ago,  how  much  better,  we  are  tempted  to  feel. 
In  his  death  we  look  back  and  see  the  wonderful 
flashing  of  his  mind  through  the  history  of  our  last 
fifty  years;  —  we  do  not  feel  bereft,  as  in  the  case  of 
Taylor,  however,  by  looking  forward  and  feeling, 
as  we  did  then,  that  one  was  taken  away  in  the 
bitter  time  of  need. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  November  17,  1852. 

You  speak  of  the  election.  The  two  platforms 
were  certainly  very  similar  this  year,  and  the 
Whig  seemed  to  be  approximating  to  the  Demo- 
cratic. A  high  tariif  no  longer  contended  for,  no 
denouncing  of  the  Sub-Treasury,  no  silence  even 
upon  the  matter  of  slavery  or  its  extension, whether 
through  possession  of  Cuba  or  in  any  other  way. 
Such  a  platform  was  hardly  adapted  to  counteract 
the  progress  of  the  Democratic  Party,  which  had 
been  steadily  coming  forward  since  the  election 
four  years  ago,  for  even  then  the  Whigs  only  par- 
tially succeeded.  I  voted  for  Scott,  but  had  he  not 
been  attacked  for  the  reason  that  he  was  the  choice 
of  the  majority  of  the  New  York  delegates,  who 
voted  against  the  gag  resolution  in  the  platform, 
I  should  not  have  felt  willing  to,  and  could  not 
f  106  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

have  voted  for  any  one.  I  thought  it  too  bad,  how- 
ever, that  he  should  lose,  both  at  the  North  and 
South,  from  the  position  in  which  the  Convention 
unwarrantably  placed  him.  It  does  not  seem  prob- 
able, however,  that  any  course  or  any  candidate 
could  have  prevented  the  Democrats  succeeding 
this  time,  by  some  majority. 

To  R.  H.  W, 

Keene,  January  6,  1853. 

.  .  .  We  have  admitted  to  our  barn  some  new 
inhabitants.  I  do  not  now  refer  to  our  two  smart 
kittens,  for  they  are  decidedly  more  addicted  to 
the  house,  but  to  six  hens  that  soon  will  be  and  a 
rooster  who  have  had  a  corner  set  off  for  them  by 
Mr.  B.,  our  chore  man  and  Jack-at-all-trades,  who 
hunted  up  the  chickens  and  hammered  together 
their  boarding-place.  Mr.  B.  looks  in  on  us  once  or 
twice  a  week  and  we  breathe  freer  for  having  no 
boy  to  freeze  by  the  doorstep,  or  run  away.  One 
tgg  we  have  only  realized  the  past  fortnight,  but 
the  future  —  well,  the  future  is  sadly  blotted  by  the 
tumbling  over  of  my  pen  and  that  may  indicate 
that  the  future  will  be  eggless.  I  was  about  say- 
ing, however,  that  to  the  future  we  look,  as  in  life 
and  experience  generally,  for  the  realization  of  our 
[  107  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

dreams  regarding  the  economics  of  hens.  They 
dispose  of  some  of  the  crumbs  which  fall  from  our 
table,  not  sufficiently  inviting  to  tempt  any  modern 
Lazarus.  Meggie  thought  six  an  ample  number, 
and  we  shall  not  have  a  family  quarrel  on  the  sub- 
ject, as  the  seventh  has  died,  the  owner  I  fear,  how- 
ever, of  the  golden  egg.  .  .  . 

The  following  letter  shows  that  there  is  nothing 
new  under  the  sun,  whatever  changes  there  may 
be  in  the  forms  of  our  insect  pests:  — 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  June  21,  1853. 

.  .  .  Still,  although  our  roses  will  be  withered  and 
our  leaves  less  green,  we  shall  hope  that  your  visit 
in  July  may  be  pleasant  to  you,  unless  you  witness 
the  fulfilment  of  the  Scripture  that  "that  which 
the  palmer- worm  hath  left,  hath  the  locust  eaten; 
and  that  which  the  locust  hath  left,  hath  the  canker- 
worm  eaten;  and  that  which  the  canker-worm  hath 
left,  hath  the  caterpillar  eaten." 

True  as  the  book,  only  for  "locust"  read  "cur- 
culio,"  and  for  "palmer-worm,"  "currant  worm," 
and  amend  by  saying  that  if  the  caterpillar  is  to 
subsist  on  the  leavings  of  the  canker-worm,  he  will 
have  but  slender  pickings. 

[  108  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

Our  "beautiful  mild  winter,"  so  much  compli- 
mented in  its  day,  seems  to  have  kept  alive  numer- 
ous eggs  of  divers  uncouth  and  harmful  insects 
who  are  now  let  abroad  upon  the  land,  cursing 
every  green  thing. 

The  canker-worm  has  been  unknown  till  this 
season,  but  now,  he  (and  his  name  is  legion)  is 
upon  every  apple  tree,  and  is  dividing  the  plum 
trees  with  the  little  curculio,  who,  faithful  to  the 
modern  principle  of  division  of  labor,  has  always 
confined  his  labors  to  one  description  of  fruit.  View 
him  now  distanced,  on  his  own  ground,  by  this 
omnivorous  reptile! 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  Monday,  December  5,  1853. 

Meggie  and  I  drove  out  two  miles  on  that  sunny 
afternoon  to  take  tea  by  appointment  at  one  of  our 
parishioners',  where  we  met  three  or  four  pleas- 
ant people  from  other  parishes,  and  the  "school- 
master." Our  tea  went  beyond  any  former  experi- 
ence. A  liberal  pile  of  bread,  little  saucers  of  citron, 
and  also  of  jelly,  by  each  plate,  custards,  apple 
tarts,  cheese,  gingerbread,  doughnuts,  and  a  great 
central  Thanksgiving  cake.  Peter  is  the  parrot  who 
knows  my  voice.  When  our  pilgrimage  through 
[  109  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

these  various  dainties  was  nearly  completed,  a 
pause  occurring  in  the  conversation  I  called  aloud 
on  Peter.  Peter  answered,  "Morel"  "What!"  say 
I  to  my  good  hostess,  in  jest,  "Peter  cannot  mean 
that  there  is  more  coming?"  "Oh,  no!  he  means 
that  he  wants  more."  But  Peter  was  a  more  cun- 
ning prophet  than  I  supposed.  In  a  few  moments 
in  came  a  large  dish  of  walnuts  and  butternuts, 
also  of  apples  and  of  parched  corn. 

We  had  a  bright  moonlight  drive  home,  and  I  am 
happy  to  inform  you  that  we  are  both  alive  this 
morning. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  March  l6,  1854. 
It  seems  to  be  rather  a  "transition  period"  in 
temperance  matters  at  present;  but  if  the  friends 
of  prohibitory  measures  are  firm  and  judicious,  I 
cannot  but  think  that  within  fifteen  years  the  state 
of  public  morals  will  be  materially  better  and  many 
of  our  smaller  towns  relieved  of  some  of  the  eye- 
sores which  disfigure  them.  If  the  law  cannot  reach 
these  grogshops  and  taverns,  I  fear  that  we  have 
seen  the  top  wave  of  temperance  and  that  it  will 
never  rise  higher  except  at  rare  intervals  by  spas- 
modic efforts,  or  (to  pursue  the  figure)  except  when 
[  no] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

some  heavy  gale  like  that  of  '41  sweeps  over  the 
country.  .  .  . 

As  to  the  schools,  if  put  on  the  Committee  this 
year,  I  shall  feel,  considering  the  High  School,  as  if 
it  would  be  better  for  our  old  board  to  work  to- 
gether again.  When  I  was  first  chosen,  I  thought  I 
would  serve  three  years,  if  I  were  in  Keene  all  the , 
time,  and  then  take  a  vacation.  Two  of  the  three 
have  quickly  gone.  Another  year,  I  fear,  some  one 
who  has  served  longer  will  want  exemption  first, 
but  while  I  continue  in  my  present  health,  I  can 
attend  to  the  schools.  There  is  nothing  about  them 
that  wears  upon  the  heart  like  the  duties  I  have 
been  called  to  lately.  We  received  on  Tuesday  a 
fine  box  of  oranges  which  we  have  enjoyed,  dis- 
tributing, as  they  mellow,  among  sick  folks,  besides 
eating  them  ourselves. 

Keene,  April  18,  1854. 
Dear  Father  and  Mother  — 

We  are  anxious  to  see  Emily  in  our  house  and 
hope  that  she  will  stow  away,  if  needful,  some  one 
of  her  children  under  the  instep  (did  n't  Mother 
Goose's  old  woman  feel  at  liberty  to  do  this  when 
she  went  gadding?)  and  bring  the  rest  with  her,  if 
she  can  pacify  her  conscience  as  a  visitor  more 
I  III  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

easily  thus,  than  by  giving  us  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
them  all. 

I  am  rejoicing  this  week  In  a  week  without  a 
Fast.  It  seems  as  if  the  week  would  be  fourteen 
days  long.  We  have,  however,  a  Teachers'  Insti- 
tute in  session,  and  the  ministers,  in  their  double 
function  of  public  characters  and  Committee  of 
education,  must  be  often  seen  at  its  sessions,  which 
are,  some  of  them,  quite  interesting. 

I  hear,  for  this  month,  as  a  special  favor,  the  son 
of  Colonel  Adams  In  his  Georgics  and  Greek 
Reader,  for  three  times  a  week.  He  occupies  the 
hour  after  dinner,  and  as  he  is  an  uncommonly 
pleasing  and  a  good  and  intelligent  lad.  It  does  not 
much  disturb  me.  The  boy  could  not  get  Into  the 
High  School,  from  his  father's  having  left  the  town. 
It  gives  me  a  chance  to  renew  my  classics  a  little, 
and  to  read  the  Georgics  for  the  first  time. 

In  the  summer  of  1854  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White's 
vacation  was  spent  in  taking  a  trip  to  Niagara 
Falls.  They  did  not  reach  the  Clifton  House  until 
nearly  midnight  owing  to  an  accident  to  the  train, 
but  In  spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  they  could 
not  resist  "sallying  forth  in  quest  of  a  lunar  rain- 
bow." He  says:  — 

[  112] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

*'0n  and  on  we  walked  until  we  came  to  Table 
Rock  and  beyond  it.  We  saw  no  rainbow,  but 
under  the  full  moon,  we  had  the  most  exquisitely 
beautiful  view  of  the  falls  which  we  have  yet  had. 
The  columns  of  spray  rose  in  drooping  veils  of  sil- 
ver dust  high  into  the  air,  and  even  flew  across  the 
moon's  distant  face.  .  .  .  We  are  entirely  satisfied 
that  the  Canada  side  is  the  side  on  which  to  stay. 
Our  room  opens  out  with  its  long  windows  upon  a 
piazza,  which,  as  well  as  the  room,  gives  us  a  view 
of  the  falls  as  good  as  we  could  desire,  and  we  hear 
that  deep  bass  which  'rests  not  day  nor  night,* 
sometimes  with  almost  painful  distinctness.  .  .  . 

After  dinner,  which  occurs  at  three  o'clock,  we 
read  Mrs.  Stowe's  beguiling  book  of '  Sunny  Memo- 
ries'  on  our  piazza,  looking  up  every  now  and  then 
to  gaze  on  the  cataracts  or  down  upon  the  'New 
Maid  of  the  Mist'  as  she  was  winding  around  the 
hem  of  the  cataract's  garment.  After  dinner, 
Meggie  and  I  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  Horse- 
Shoe  Fall  on  the  Canada  side,  where  there  is  a 
thick  log  projecting  into  the  stream.  It  is  a  little 
above  Table  Rock.  I  had  walked  here  the  day 
before.  To  me  it  gives  the  finest  view  of  the  falls 
which  I  have  seen.  You  seem  to  be  almost  within 
the  vortex  of  the  cataract,  and  the  exquisitely 

[  113  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

formed  curve  of  the  Horse-Shoe  Fall  nowhere  so 
beautifully  appears  as  here,  and  on  the  pitiful  little 
fragment  of  Table  Rock  which  remains.  I  far, 
very,  very  far  prefer  the  Horse-Shoe  Fall  with  that 
curve,  and  the  evergreen  water  with  its  hoarser 
depths,  to  the  American  Fall.  .  .  .  When  I  was 
here  in  an  October  snowstorm  on  my  way  to  St. 
Louis,  and  ill  with  a  very  bad  cold,  I  was  far  from 
deriving  as  much  enjoyment  as  now  from  the  falls, 
apart  from  my  being  compelled  then  to  see  them 
alone.  But  my  view  then  of  the  American  Fall,  as, 
on  looking  up  to  it,  it  seemed  (for  the  snow  and  the 
fog)  to  touch  the  sky,  gave  me  an  idea  of  the  height 
of  the  falls  which  no  subsequent  view  ever  equalled. 
The  sight  of  the  falls  (which  I  have  had  twenty 
times  since  beginning  this  letter)  is  a  continual 
joy  —  a  perpetual  feast  to  the  eyes.  They  can  drink 
deep." 

It  is  pleasant  to  read  of  the  cordial  welcome  that 
awaited  them  on  their  return  from  their  summer 
vacation.  Three  of  their  special  friends  were  at  the 
house  to  greet  them,  one  of  whom  took  them  home 
to  supper.  And  the  next  evening  several  more 
parishioners  called. 


[  114  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 
To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  September  4,  1854. 

Meggie  has  had  supplies  of  cake,  seven  kinds, 
from  five  different  sources,  so  that  we  may  be  in 
danger  of  becoming  too  high  Hvers.  A  loaf  of  bread 
came  shortly  after  our  arrival  which  was  more 
acceptable  than  all  the  cake.  Sundry  pies  have 
found  their  way  also  hither,  and  Mr.  Wheeler  the 
evening  that  he  came  brought  us  butter.  But  the 
best  of  all  is  that,  during  our  absence,  there  has 
been  no  severe  sickness  and  not  a  single  death*  in 
the  parish.  In  contrast  with  the  months  of  January 
and  March,  in  one  of  which  five,  in  another  six, 
funerals  occurred,  we  have  reason  to  be  very  grate- 
ful for  the  health  that  has  prevailed  among  us.  .  .  . 

The  small-pox  is  creating  some  alarm  here.  They 
have  established  a  pest-house  about  two  miles  off, 
but  some  of  the  patients  prefer  their  own  houses. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  September  27,  1854. 

I  preached  two  new  sermons  last  Sunday,  in 
spite  of  having  given  three  half-days  to  schools 
during  the  week,  and  my  having  two  guests.  I  am 
glad  that  I  have  been  able  to  preach  three  years 
without  repeating  a  sermon,  and  by  the  time  I  am 
[  115  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

compelled  to  do  so,  shall  trust  that  they  will  not 
be  too  promptly  recognized. 

To  D.  A.  W.  AND  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  January  24,  1855. 

...  At  about  8.45  Mary  and  I  were  ready  to  set 
forth  on  our  way  to  the  Methodist  festival,  which 
was  much  like  the  Baptist  ditto  save  the  extrac- 
tion of  some  of  the  more  familiar  stars.  There  were 
more  strange  faces.  I  was  put  upon  a  very  high 
rostrum  where  I  talked  four  or  five  minutes  "as 
one  beating  the  air,"  or  rather  (with  the  sea  of 
faces  beating  to  and  fro  in  front)  more  like  a  strug- 
gling sailor  in  the  waves,  calling  for  help  and  not 
rousing  any  one  to  hear  him.  Those  in  front  were 
attentive,  but  a  Post-Ofhce  just  opened  at  the  side 
of  the  hall  was  a  formidable  rival,  and  so  great  was 
the  chattering  that  I  was  soon  glad  to  taste  the 
sweets  of  obscurity  and  ice-cream  in  the  throng 
below. 

Brother  Robbins  next  mounted,  and  though  he 
excelled  me  in  brevity,  I  had  the  malignant  satis- 
faction of  finding  that  even  his  more  sonorous 
voice  spoke  no  peace  to  those  tumultuous  waves. 
Neither  did  Mr.  Beedle  nor  Mr.  Prentiss  enchain 
that  wild  and  wandering  throng.  .  .  . 
[  116] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

Keene,  September  25,  1855. 
In  Meggle's  letter  to  Mary,  you  will  hear  of  our 
very  pleasant  trip  to  Charlestown  ten  days  since. 
It  was  a  drive  on  Saturday  afternoon  of  about 
twenty-five,  and  by  the  different  road  we  took 
Monday  morning  in  returning,  of  twenty-seven 
miles.  We  encountered  some  severe  hills,  but  the 
views  were  exquisite,  showing  us  Ascutney  on  the 
north  and  Monadnock  on  the  south.  We  had  plenty 
of  blackberries,  and  passed  through  some  fine 
woods.  We  were  very  hospitably  received  at  our 
hosts'  house  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sylvester)  and  dined 
with  Mrs.  Ayer  (the  new  minister's  wife)  at  the 
hotel,  and  took  tea  at  Dr.  Crosby's.  The  Sylves- 
ters' biscuit  from  flour  from  his  own  New  Hampshire 
wheat  was  exceedingly  sweet  and  good.  I  gave  out 
in  the  afternoon  three  hymns  which  were  married 
some  hundred  years  ago  to  good  old  tunes,  and  in 
every  instance  Mr.  Gushing,  the  organist,  confirmed 
the  validity  of  that  marriage,  or  rather  denied  the 
validity  of  any  divorce,  so  that  our  "meeting"  was 
particularly  pleasant.  .  .  . 


[  117] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 
To  M.  E.  W. 

Keene,  January  22,  1856. 

.  .  .  Then  I  trudged  up  to  Mrs.  Houghton's  and 
talked  with  her  and  her  husband  while  some  nine- 
teen doughnuts  were  fried  under  my  nose.  A  most 
singular  coincidence.  As  I  returned  the  whole  air 
was  filled  with  the  perfume  of  frying  dough.  Every 
house  in  the  village  must  have  been  engaged  in  the 
operation.  The  clear  winter  air  seemed  poisoned. 
Nay,  you  might  have  thought  that  meteoric  dough- 
nuts had  fallen  from  upper  planets.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Houghton  said,  a  lady  had  guessed  that  I 
was  about  thirty,  and  that  old  Mrs.  Leonard  used 
to  ask  about  your  and  my  age,  and  Mrs.  H.  could 
not  enlighten  her,  and  the  centenarian  had  settled 
down  into  the  idea  that  you  were  a  year  or  two  the 
elder.  This  I  mention  lest  old  Mr.  Perry's  com- 
pliments should  turn  your  head,  and  because  it  is 
so  rare  for  me  to  be  taken  for  less  old  than  I  am. 

Keene,  February  3,  1857. 
.  .  .  Having  been  at  home  throughout  January,  I 
was  looking  forward  to  an  exchange  on  Sunday  last 
with  Mr.  Ayer,  of  Charlestown,  who  arrived  here 
about  2  P.M.  But  after  four  visits  to  the  railroad, 
(thanks  to  the  telegraph),  I  gave  up  the  expedition 
f  118  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

at  7  P.M.  and  made  the  most  of  Mr.  Ayer's  com- 
pany, the  exchange  with  whom  was  converted  into 
a  very  agreeable  labor  of  love  on  his  part  next  day. 
The  morning  train  of  Saturday  for  Charlestown 
did  not  reach  Keene  till  lo  p.m.  Sunday  night,  and 
did  not  proceed  to  Charlestown  till  Monday  morn- 
ing. The  detention  was  owing  to  heavy  snows  and 
the  subsequent  rain  which,  when  the  weather  grew 
cold  again,  fastened  the  snow  to  the  rails.  .  .  . 

Keene,  February  19,  1857. 
...  I  had  three  funeral  services  to  attend  last 
week.  One  of  them  occurred  in  church,  the  first 
funeral  there  since  I  was  settled.  It  was  the  hus- 
band of  a  worthy  woman,  who  has  within  a  year 
lost  her  only  child,  a  young  man  of  thirty-one  who 
died.  The  husband  had  been  for  a  few  years  insane, 
but  the  wife  had  been  hoping  for  his  recovery. 
Previous  to  the  loss  of  her  faithful  and  enterprising 
son  and  the  insanity  of  her  husband,  the  good 
woman  was  stretched  sick  upon  her  bed  for  about 
a  year.  She  is  now  able  to  help  herself  and  she 
bears  her  troubles  like  a  Christian.  I  preached 
Sunday  forenoon  upon  resignation  from  the  text, 
"O  my  Father,  if  the  cup  may  not  pass  away  from 
me,  except  I  drink  it,  thy  will  be  done."  I  tried  to 
[  119] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

state  what  was  and  what  was  not  included  In  this 
virtue,  and  was  glad  to  hear  Mrs.  W.  (the  person 
in  question)  say  that  it  had  helped  her  to  make  her 
mind  clearer  on  the  subject.  I  suppose  she  had  been 
fearing  that  she  lamented  too  much  the  loss  of  her 
former  joys.  I  said  (and  I  most  firmly  believe  it), 
in  the  course  of  the  sermon,  that  a  person  who  so 
severely  felt  an  affliction  as  to  lead  all  his  friends 
to  say  that  he  had  "never  been  the  same  person 
since,"  might  have  far  more  of  true  Christian  resig- 
nation than  a  person  who  seemed  to  "bear  up" 
much  better.  The  fact  is,  some  persons  live  infin- 
itely more  than  others  in  the  household  affections. 
Some  have  few  deep*  affections,  perhaps  none. 
Others  difi"use  them  over  a  larger  surface  and  have 
so  many  friends  that  they  are  less  dependent  upon 
the  one  or  two  or  three  that  are  essential  to  the 
identity  of  another  person. 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  Friday,  March  6,  1857. 
Mr.  Buchanan's  inaugural  does  not  give  us  much 
to  hope  for,  though  we  had  no  reason  to  expect  that 
it  would.  It  is  more  melancholy  to  see  a  man  and  a 
Northern  man  of  age  and  experience  (like  him  or 
Mr.  Cass)  coolly  maintaining  that  Slavery  at  this 
[   120  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

period  of  the  world  may  be  voted  in  or  not  into 
any  new  Territories  accordingly  as  those  who  first 
rush  to  the  spot  may  happen  to  choose,  than  to 
see  a  man  of  Pierce's  calibre  contending  for  such 
a  diabolical  proposition.  Sooner  than  that  new 
States  should  be  added  to  Slavery  in  this  way,  I 
would  see  the  Union  torn  to  shreds;  and  yet  I  have 
faith  that  this  wicked,  Satanic  doctrine  will,  under 
Providence,  with  proper  exertions  of  those  who 
love  Freedom,  result  in  dealing  a  more  effectual 
blow  at  Slavery  than  any  that  has  been  dealt  at 
the  monster.  Shocking  as  it  seems  to  give  Slavery 
and  Freedom  the  race-course,  and  oifer  the  prize 
to  her  who  will  first  reach  the  goal,  yet  it  must 
seem  strange,  indeed,  if  in  such  a  race  Freedom 
should  not  conquer. 

After  the  christening  of  his  eldest  child,  he  writes : 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  June  7,  1857. 
Sunday  afternoon. 

It  would  have  always  been  a  source  of  regret  if 
my  father  and  my  child  had  not  been  living  at  the 
same  time.  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  think  that  you 
and  mother  were  here  just  when  you  were.  It  was 
just  the  time  to  christen  the  child.  The  newness  of 
I  121  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

the  relation  which  her  mother  and  I  bore  to  her 
gave  more  excitement  to  the  act  of  consecration 
at  that  time,  although  we  may  fancy  that  we  love 
the  child  more  as  she  grows  older.  I  think  I  can 
understand  better  now  why  young  Benjamin 
Franklin  and  all  the  babies  of  that  generation  were 
baptized  on  or  very  near  to  the  day  of  the  birth. 
To  put  off  for  two  or  three  twelvemonths  such  a 
service  seems  like  one's  remembering  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  that  he  has  not  thanked  God  yet 
for  the  first  light  of  the  morning. 

But  how  strange  it  seems  to  think  that  you  can 
be  eighty-one!  How  contentedly  would  I  "com- 
promise," if  spared  (as  I  have  not  the  least  expec- 
tation I  shall  be)  to  the  age  of  sixty,  to  be  permitted 
at  that  age  to  have  as  much  mental  and  physical 
vigor  as  you  now  have.  It  is  now  (within  three 
months)  nearly  twenty-two  years  since  your  regular 
correspondence  with  me  commenced. 

God  make  this,  as  much  as  his  Providence  will 
permit,  a  year  to  you  and  mother  of  comfort  and 
peace!  God  guard  and  keep  us  all,  and  enable  us 
to  say  for  ourselves  and  for  our  friends  with 
Milton:  "Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate,  but  what 
thou  liv'st,  live  well,  how  long,  how  short,  permit 
to  Heaven!" 

[  122  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

...  I  found  Edward  Hale  and  his  wife  here.  .  .  . 
E.  E.  Hale's  preaching  was  much  admired,  with 
one  dissenting  voice  —  that  of  a  little  four-year- 
old  lamb  who  thought  he  made  more  noise  than 
Mr.  White,  and  felt  that  he  beat  the  Bible  too 
familiarly.  .  .  . 

In  speaking  of  a  journey  to  North  Conway  he 
writes :  — 

Kearsarge  Village  (North  Conway), 

Friday,  July  24,  1857. 

We  had  a  beautiful  day  Tuesday.  The  air  was 
sweet  and  perfectly  free  from  dust.  .  .  .  We  lunched 
at  White  River  Junction  on  our  March  chicken 
kindly  spared  by  the  cat  (who  ate  his  sister  at  an 
early  age)  for  our  present  adventure.  Said  chicken 
was  garnished  with  ice-cream  which  we  found  at  the 
"Junction."  .  .  .  Yesterday,  Thursday,  I  walked 
a  mile  and  a  half  to  the  village  and  through  it  to 
hire  a  baby  wagon  and  get  pail,  basket,  dipper, 
etc.,  for  the  baby.  But  I  had  to  enter  three  or  four 
houses  and  talk  with  their  inmates  before  I  found 
a  "home-made"  wagon  belonging  to  a  boy  of  some 
five  or  six  summers.  This  I  drew  back  with  me, 
loading  it  with  some  of  my  smaller  purchases.  This 
morning  I  have  drawn  the  baby  in  it  for  a  half- 
[  123  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

hour  and  it  goes  very  well.  No  carriage  could  be 
bought,  they  thought,  short  of  Portland. 

North  Conway,  New  Hampshire, 
July  31,  1857.   Friday,  3  p.m. 

Dear  Father  and  Mother:  — 

When  I  wrote  last,  I  was  under  an  engagement  to 
preach  in  Lancaster  fifty-two  miles  off,  on  Sunday. 
I  had  determined  to  go  in  an  open  wagon,  having 
found  that  it  would  on  various  accounts  be  more 
convenient  than  the  stage-coaches.  When  about 
eight  miles  from  here,  without  any  apparent  reason 
for  the  movement,  my  horse  fell  full  length.  The 
long  journey  through  the  Notch  rose  before  me 
and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  not  made  a  very  auspicious 
beginning.  I  could  not,  alone,  get  the  horse  to  his 
feet,  but  fortunately  I  was  opposite  to  an  old  red 
house  in  Bartlett  at  whose  door  sat  a  septuagena- 
rian by  the  name  of  Joseph  Weeks  who  came  to  the 
rescue.  As  it  began  to  sprinkle,  I  put  the  "team" 
under  the  shelter  of  the  shed  and  passed  fifteen 
minutes  with  my  new  acquaintance,  who,  upon  my 
asking  what  I  could  do  for  him,  replied  that  he 
would  be  glad  to  have  me  sometime  send  him  a 
newspaper. 

I  reached  what  used  to  be  "Old  Crawford's" 
[  124  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

at  about  7.15  p.m.  Dr.  Bemis,  a  Boston  dentist,  is 
now  proprietor  of  most  of  the  territory  and  is  liv- 
ing with  his  farm  laborers  at  the  hotel  which  is 
closed.  I  asked  for  oats  for  my  horse,  and  he  won- 
dered at  my  expecting  to  get  farther  that  night.  I 
told  him  that  if  I  met  with  any  misadventure,  it 
would  make  another  story  for  the  Notch.  He  said 
that  he  would  rather  have  me  live  to  write  any 
such  story.  On  his  asking  me  to  stop  I  said,  "But 
the  hotel  is  closed."  He  told  me  that  if  I  would  be 
content  with  farmer's  fare,  I  might  be  welcome  to 
stop.  So  I  went  in,  and  after  my  "tea  and  toast" 
the  doctor  and  I  had  two  or  three  hours'  chat  about 
the  mountains  and  some  of  his  pedestrian  adven- 
tures in  exploring  them.  Next  morning  at  eight 
I  began  my  second  day's  journey  of  thirty-four 
miles. 

.  .  .  When  twelve  miles  from  Lancaster  in  the 
town  of  Jefferson  I  had  the  finest  view  of  Mount 
Washington  which  I  have  yet  seen.  My  plan  was 
to  spend  the  night  at  the  "Glen  House."  To  avoid 
seven  additional  miles  by  Gorham  I  concluded  to 
try  an  old,  half-abandoned  road  through  the  forest. 
The  road  was  secluded  enough:  the  silver  firs  on 
each  side  as  thick  as  if  they  grew  in  nurseries.  I 
had  to  ford  two  streams,  the  latter  the  "  Peabody 
I  125  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

River,"  which,  though  not  deep,  had  uncomfort- 
ably large  stones  in  it.  But  when  all  this  was  sur- 
mounted, there  appeared  a  narrow,  dry  ravine  up 
which  ran  a  path  almost  as  straight  as  a  fly's  on  a 
wall  (a  bridge  here  being  gone).  I  tried  to  lead  my 
horse  up,  but  though  he  tried  bravely  to  follow, 
the  earth  slid  from  under  him.  I  crept  up  the  bank 
and  descried  a  house.  I  summoned  help.  The  man 
(Charles  Davis)  told  me  that  they  generally  took 
out  their  horses  there;  that  one  man  did  try  to  go 
up,  but  that  the  top  of  his  wagon  would  have  fallen 
off,  if  some  one  had  not  seen  what  was  about  to 
happen  in  season.  He  had  a  horse,  however,  that 
would  "go  up  Bunker  Hill  Monument."  So  he 
got  his  horse,  and  stationing  him  at  the  top  of  the 
bank,  hitched  long  iron  chains  to  the  buggy  and 
then  whipping  the  horse  the  refractory  vehicle  was 
drawn  up.  I  soon  had  my  horse  reharnessed,  and 
being  now  on  the  travelled  road  (though  terribly 
black  and  muddy)  to  the  "Glen  House,"  reached  it 
after  two  miles'  travel  at  between  seven  and  eight. 
Its  situation  is  very  picturesque  and  the  house 
exceedingly  good.  I  found  Lucretia,  Susan,  and 
Edward  Hale  there.  Twenty  miles  more  next  day 
(Tuesday)  brought  me  to  North  Conway  in  season 
for  dinner. 

[  126  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 
To  M.  E.  W. 

Keene,  September  2,  1857. 
After  dinner  I  walked  up  Mount  Wlllard,  and  in 
about  an  hour,  after  going  over  a  black  and  muddy 
road,  reached  the  top,  taking  care,  as  I  approached 
the  summit,  to  bend  my  eyes  to  the  ground,  until  I 
came  to  the  very  top,  and  then  —  I  was  completely 
carried  away.  It  is  the  crown  of  my  journey,  alone 
worth  the  whole  journey.  And  it  is  unlike  any  view 
that  I  can  remember,  my  Swiss  impressions  being 
providentially  so  obliterated  by  the  lapse  of  fifteen 
years  that  they  do  not  rise  up  in  judgment  against 
this  view.  The  view  is  truly  wonderful.  It  seems 
like  looking  into  the  hold  of  a  mighty  ship,  and  the 
jagged  sides  of  the  Notch  seem  here  as  symmetrical 
as  the  rounding  sides  of  a  bowl.  The  curve  is  per- 
fect. Three  times  I  went  back  to  look  again  after 
I  had  turned  away.  I  have  nowhere  in  this  coun- 
try so  felt  the  grandeur  of  mountains,  for  Mount 
Willard  being  happily  lower  than  Webster  and 
Willey,  which  rise  in  front  at  either  hand,  you  se- 
cure the  privilege  of  looking  up  to  what  is  elevat- 
ing, as  well  as  down  on  what  is  beautiful.  I  wanted 
to  pull  you  over  from  Conway.  Whenever  you  see 
it,  let  it  be  in  the  afternoon.  I  saw  Mount  Crawford 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  view,  and  reminded  my- 
[  127  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

self  that  it  was  more  of  a  mountain  for  your  having 
been  on  It.  .  .  . 

Reaching  Keene,  as  I  before  said,  I  am  pleased 
to  find  that  West  Mountain  seems  a  good  deal 
nearer  the  size  of  Moat  Mountain  than  it  did  yes- 
terday. I  think  it  is  growing.  And  as  for  Beech 
Hill,  I  can  see  nothing  the  other  side  of  it. 

The  year  1857  Is  marked  by  the  first  of  the  three 
great  sorrows  which  were  to  shadow  the  next  few 
years.  The  tie  between  my  father  and  his  sister 
Mary  had  been  peculiarly  strong  and  her  death 
was  a  very  heavy  blow. 

To  Mrs.  F.  J.  Higginson 

Keene,  January  i,  1858. 

My  dear  Friend:  — 

Your  very  kind  note  reached  me  here,  and  we 
thank  you  for  it.  I  say  "we,"  for  Margaret,  before 
Mary  was  taken  ill,  had  said  to  me  that  she 
thought  she  knew  no  difference  between  her  love 
for  her  and  that  she  felt  for  her  own  sisters.  We 
find,  as  the  days  pass  on,  the  circle  widening  of 
those  to  whom  Mary's  love  was  invaluable.  Mrs. 
Perry  (formerly  Miss  Endicott),  whom  I  met  at 
Cousin  Nancy's  in  Salem,  told  me  that  she  never 
had  such  a  friend  out  of  her  own  family.  Mrs. 
f  128  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

Upham  called  to  see  us  all  in  Salem,  and  was  so 
overcome  for  a  few  moments  that  she  could  not 
speak.  She  said  that  she  felt  it  was  well  that  they 
had  not  been  thrown  so  constantly  together  of 
late  years  as  they  once  had,  for  "if  we  had  been," 
she  added,  "this  would  have  broken  my  heart." 

Harriet  Peirson  is  another  friend  whose  grief  is 
so  deep  that  she  has  longed  to  wear  mourning  for 
her.  Mary's  new  friends,  Ellen  Peirson  and  Martha 
Lowe,  with  their  husbands,  feel  that  they  have  met 
with  a  severe  bereavement.  Frank  Peabody  (son 
of  Rev.  W.  B.  O.  P.)  wrote  me  that  his  wife  told 
him,  after  first  seeing  Mary,  that  there  was  no 
friend, '  whom  she  had  made  since  her  childhood," 
to  whom  her  heart  warmed  so  much  as  to  her.  Rev. 
Dr.  Smith  of  Newton,  who  married  a  cousin  of  ours 
(who  was  an  only  child),  told  us  that  his  wife  said 
that  "Mary  had  seemed  to  her  like  a  sister."         ! 

President  Walker  writes  to  father,  "She  was  as 
perfect  an  example  of  what  a  Christian  daughter, 
wife,  and  mother  should  be,  as  ever  I  knew." 

Keene,  Thursday,  January  14,  1858. 

My  dear  Father:  — 

I  thank  you  for  your  letter  which  I  received  on 
Monday.  ...  I  was  particularly  interested  in  what 
I  129  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

you  said  about  Mary  and  was  glad  that  you  could 
also  recall  her  under  so  many  cheering  and  soothing 
aspects.  But  how  heavy  the  thought  is  at  times 
that  we  cannot  see  her  here  again.  How  like  a  new 
revelation  the  sense  of  the  loss  keeps  coming  up! 
And  how  could  we  expect  it  to  be  otherwise?  There 
would  be  something  unnatural  in  our  state  of  mind, 
could  we  be  saved  from  such  depressing  thoughts. 
Our  conviction  that  the  Love  from  which  her  own 
love  welled  forth  is  deeper  and  purer  and  wiser  than 
all  earthly  love  can  be,  cannot  make  everything 
what  it  was,  nor  can  God  intend  that  it  should  be 
the  means  of  blotting  out  the  past.  But  we  must 
all  face  the  great,  inevitable  law  of  separation.  It  is 
nothing  new.  It  has  always  been  going  on.  How 
hard  it  is  not  to  feel  that  such  a  trial  is  out  of  the 
common  course!  But  is  it  not  better  to  feel  that 
each  pang  we  feel,  we  bear  for  her,  each  moment  of 
desolation  is  so  much  that  she  is  spared  from?  I 
think  her  husband  must  find  strength  in  the  new 
revelation  of  the  extent  of  what  Mary's  sorrow 
would  have  been  had  she  been  left  without  him 
here. 

I  cordially  respond  to  what  you  say  about  our 
cause  for  gratitude   that   we    have  been  blessed 
with  such  a  life  so  long.   In  my  own  case  certainly 
[  130  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

(and  I  dare  say  you  will  feel  In  yours)  this  bereave- 
ment comes  as  one  result  of  my  living  In  this  world 
so  much  longer  than  I  once  expected.  We  are  gen- 
erally willing  to  recover  from  our  sicknesses,  and 
we  ought  to  feel  always  that  we  have  much  to  live 
for,  but  when  our  own  lives  are  spared  again  and 
again,  we  must  not  expect  to  keep  our  most  cher- 
ished blessings  by  us  too,  through  all  life's  changes. 
If  we  pray  for  longer  life  here,  we  must  take  its 
darkness  and  its  light  together. 

Keene,  February  19,  1858. 

My  dear  Father:  — 

Your  very  welcome  birthday  letter  arrived  upon 
the  1 2th.  ...  I  was  reminded  of  an  Interesting 
occurrence  a  year  since.  As  you  say,  father,  "occa- 
sions are  constantly  arising  to  freshen  our  sense  of 
Mary's  loss."  Well,  I  remember  that  upon  my  last 
birthday.  In  her  letter,  she  said  something  like  this! 
"What  a  sweet  birthday  greeting  for  William  to 
feel  the  velvet  touch  of  those  little  hands  on  his 
cheek  as  he  wakes  In  the  morning!"  It  did  so  hap- 
pen that  that  very  morning,  for  the  first  time  In  her 
life,  the  baby  had  put  her  hand  on  my  cheeks  as  I 
bent  over  her  crib  when  she  waked,  and  I  had  been 
thinking  in  my  mind  that  it  was  a  "sweet  birthday 
[  131  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

greeting"  when,  a  few  hours  after,  Mary's  letter 
arrived.  Of  course  this  anniversary  brought  her 
back  with  renewed  distinctness.  She  always  re- 
membered these  periods  so  well.  It  was  particu- 
larly cheering  to  me  to  find  that  there  were  those 
still  left  who  could  remember  a  day  so  marked  in 
my  own  experience. 

Somewhat  singularly,  the  first  person  in  afflic- 
tion whom  I  was  called  to  see,  on  returning  from 
Salem,  was  a  lady  who  was  mourning  the  loss  of  a 
sister  who  had  died  at  a  distance.  I  saw  her  again 
afterward  and  she  said  she  felt  better  and  happier 
since  I  had  led  her  to  reflect  upon  her  sister's 
*' being  better  off  where  she  was,"  for  before,  in  the 
midst  of  her  own  grief,  she  had  n't  stopped  to  think 
about  that!  I  thought,  on  leaving  her  house,  that 
perhaps  it  was  a  lesson  that  one  need  not  be  on  the 
search  for  out-of-the-way  topics  of  consolation. 

Well,  the  second  case  that  occurred  was  a  funeral 
where  sisters  were  the  chief  mourners.  But  when 
I  began  to  speak  about  the  early  and  tender  recol- 
lections of  home  as  I  did  on  a  subsequent  call,  I 
found  that  the  family  had  been  plunged  into  the 
hardships  of  life  very  early  —  the  old  home  broken 
up  when  they  were  yet  children,  and  each  left  to 
plough  her  own  furrow  down  the  sands  of  time 
[  132  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

unto  the  threescore  and  tenth  landmark  which 
they  had  all  nearly  reached.  .  .  . 

I  preached  at  home  on  Sunday,  but  expect  to  go 
to  Winchester,  twelve  miles  off,  the  ensuing  Sunday. 
I  exchange  with  a  Universalist  preacher.  That  is 
the  village  where  Dartmouth  College  would  have 
been  located,  had  not  the  chief  proprietor  of  the 
settlement  (Willard,  by  name)  recoiled  from  the 
thought  of  the  injury  which  the  thriving  township 
might  receive  from  the  influx  of  a  company  of 
dissolute  youngsters.  There  is  a  beautiful  belt  of 
ancient  pines,  some  twenty-one  in  number,  which 
gird  the  Ashuelot  River,  right  upon  the  main  street 
of  the  town,  whose  shadows,  thrown  upon  the  snow 
in  the  moonlight,  had  a  very  picturesque  effect. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  May  ii,  1858. 
Meggie  and  I  were  busy  yesterday  digging  about 
some  of  our  rosebushes,  and  to-day  I  have  been 
setting  out  a  tree  or  two,  and  uprooting  dead  ones. 
I  have  begun  to  trim  my  hedge  which  is  quite  an 
affair,  and  I  see  enough  to  do,  including  the  "work- 
ing up"  of  a  little  wood,  to  keep  me  in  the  open  air 
a  good  week  or  more  "steady,"  if  I  could  take  as 
much  consecutive  time.  Two  young  sparrows  are 
[  133  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

refitting  their  nest  in  our  honeysuckle  about  a 
yard  from  our  parlor  window.  I  would  give  a  six- 
pence to  know  they  were  the  same  pair  who  first 
built  the  edifice  last  year.  Were  Mother  and  you 
to  enter  the  kitchen,  you  would  hear  much  loud 
bleating  which  you  would  perceive  to  be  instantly 
quieted  by  some  member  of  the  family  going  to  a 
basket  and  covering  it  with  her  hands.  It  was 
Maggie's  care  at  intervals  yesterday  in  this  way  to 
provide  for  the  members  of  a  feathered  family 
much  in  the  same  plight  with  those  who  called  her 
who  lived  in  a  shoe,  "Mother."  My  hen  with  her 
nineteen  eggs  became  so  impatient  of  the  delay  of 
her  latter-day  chickens  (for  there  must  be  a  last, 
as  well  as  a  first  among  nineteen)  that  we  had  to 
take  the  alphas  away  that  she  might  concentrate 
her  brooding  thoughts  upon  the  omegas^  an  opera- 
tion not  perfectly  consistent  with  a  constant  desire 
to  lead  out  the  early  ones  into  the  world.  We  trust 
they  will  all  form  one  family  again  in  a  day  or  two. 
We  were  very  pleasantly  excited  a  few  days  since 
by  learning  that  the  house  which  stares  into  our 
kitchen  windows  (and  was  pushed  into  the  corner 
where  it  now  is,  some  four  years  since)  has  been 
bought  by  a  neighbor  (to  whose  house  it  is  as  near 
as  our  sparrow's  nest  to  our  parlor  window)  and 
I  134] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

will  be  moved  off  this  fall.  It  thrills  my  heart  with 
more  pleasurable  emotions  than  the  marriage  of 
the  Princess  Royal,  or  even  the  marriages  of  every 
one  of  the  Queen's  family  would.  How  beneficently 
Providence  distributes  and  proportions  our  sources 
of  pleasure! 

Chester,  Vermont,  June  21,  1858. 
Dear  Father: — 

We  have  heard  of  "the  pursuit  of  knowledge 
under  difficulties,"  and  were  you  to  see  me  in  this 
long  dining-room  with  my  lamp  between  the  castor 
and  piles  of  plates  upon  the  side  table  (being  driven 
to  these  quarters  by  new  paint  in  the  parlor),  you 
might  think  I  was  practising  chirography  under 
somewhat  of  difficulty.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  and 
mother  a  little  about  the  first  day  of  our  little 
journey. 

After  dinner  we  proceeded  (to  drive)  towards 
Chester,  reaching  C.  at  about  seven  on  the  longest 
day  of  the  year,  with  L.  as  happy  as  a  little  singing 
bird  at  the  close  of  her  thirty-eight  miles'  drive. 
She  has  been  only  a  little  comfort  all  day,  some- 
times coaxing  us  to  let  her  throw  a  stone  into  the 
"pretty  water"  that  it  may  go  "splash,"  or  asking 
for  flowers,  but  not  crying  from  morning  to  night. 
[  135  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

She  enjoyed  amazingly  getting  out  and  romping 
through  the  covered  bridge  between  Walpole  and 
Westminster  with  her  mother.  .  .  .  But  about 
6  P.M.,  as  we  had  made  our  journey  four  miles 
longer  by  taking  a  wrong  road  (which  gave  us  such 
picturesque  views  as  only  wrong  roads  do),  she 
wanted  "minnie  milk."  I  stopped  at  rather  an  un- 
promising little  cottage  (in  front  of  which  strode  a 
flock  of  twenty-five  turkeys  with  hens  and  chickens 
not  far  off),  and  passing  through  the  open  door 
where  a  little  girl  of  five  or  six  was  sitting,  I  told, 
to  quite  an  old  gray-beard,  the  story  of  a  little  hun- 
gry girl  about  two  years  old  who  had  tasted  no 
milk  the  livelong  day,  producing  L.'s  silver  cup 
which  was  instantly  filled,  and  which  she  drank 
with  perfect  delight.  .  .  . 

The  scenery  we  have  enjoyed  very  much.  The 
grape  blossoms  scented  the  air  this  morning,  and 
the  day  was  all  that  a  fine  day  can  be.  It  is  the  first 
time  we  have  ever  taken  just  such  a  trip  together, 
and  the  first  time  we  have  taken  any  journey  just 
at  this  season,  and  it  seems  to  be  doing  us  all 
good.  We  set  off,  we  hope,  at  about  seven  to-mor- 
row for  our  thirty  miles'  drive  to  Manchester,  Ver- 
mont, the  Ultima  Thule  of  our  expedition  as  we 
expect. 

[  136  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

Keene,  July  6,  1858. 
One  evening  of  last  week  we  had  four  young  men 
(being  part  of  Margaret's  Sunday-School  Class) 
at  tea  with  us.  I  heard  that  one  of  them  said  after- 
wards that  "if  anybody  did  n't  have  a  good  time 
at  Mr,  White's,  he'd  better  go  off  into  the  woods 
by  himself." 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  Wednesday,  September  15,  1858. 

I  preached  last  Sunday  afternoon  about  the 
English  translations  of  the  Scriptures,  that  is, 
Wyckliffe's,  Tyndale's,  Coverdale's,  and  the  King 
James  one,  including  in  the  sermon  historical  inci- 
dents connected  with  the  painful  and  protracted, 
birth  of  the  Bible  into  English.  The  English 
Hexapla  which  I  got  in  London  for  you  and  which 
you  transferred  to  me  was  my  authority.  It  took 
me  some  time  to  compile  the  sermon,  but  I  was 
paid  by  the  information  which  I  thus  fastened  in 
my  own  mind.  It  has  set  me  to  reading  more  about 
Wyckliffe  in  the  Vaughan's  "Life  of  Wyckliffe" 
which  you  once  gave  me  and  in  a  German  Life  of 
him  which  I  have. 

Yesterday  morning  there  came  a  big  box  to  my 
door  (with  notes  which  I  may  by  and  by  enclose 
[  137  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

for  you  to  see)  containing  fifteen  volumes  of  the 
edition  now  In  publication  of  the  Encyclopedia 
Britannica  (with  promise  of  the  remaining  volumes, 
when  issued),  from  my  parish.  It  is  just  what  I 
wanted,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  this 
gift  of  a  hundred  dollars  or  more  was  made  are 
very  pleasant.  We  were  entirely  taken  by  surprise 
in  its  reception. 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  September  27,  1858. 
O  the  comet!  Is  n't  he  an  agreeable  arrival.?  I 
fear  you  must  go  outdoors  to  see  him,  but  perhaps 
you  may  see  from  your  study  window  the  "blazing 
star"  as  a  neighbor  of  mine  called  it.  On  my  telling 
him  said  comet's  tail  was  six  million  miles  long,  he 
replied,  "Well,  that  ar  is  a  kind  o'  curus."  Comet 
from  coma,  hair,  from  its  bearded  appearance.  See 
Encyclopedia,  Britannica  (the  parish,  his  gift). 

To  D.  A.  W.  AND  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  February  15,  1859. 

On  Saturday  evening,  some  wedding  guests  with 
a  bride  and  bridegroom  appeared  unexpectedly  in 
my  parlor.  Upon  my  remarking  that  I  had  found 
February  12  a  good  day  to  be  born  on,  and  I  did  n't 

I  138  ] 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

see  why  it  might  not  be  a  good  day  to  be  married 
on,  the  bride  remarked  that  it  was  her  birthday, 
and  that  it  was  for  that  reason  it  had  been  selected 
as  the  wedding  day.  If  they  had  undertaken  to 
hunt  up  a  minister  in  the  State  at  large  whose 
birthday  was  thus  coincident,  it  might  have  taken 
them  some  time.  .  .  . 

To  D.  A.  W. 

Keene,  Jpril  13,  i860. 
They  [the  parish]  showed  their  good-will  by 
adding  fifty  dollars  to  my  salary  which  evens  off 
the  fractions  and  gives  me  four  hundred  dollars 
twice  a  year  besides  my  wood  which  is  worth  about 
ninety  more.  It  is  amusing  to  see  how  many  things 
M.  and  I  have  been  doing  with  that  fifty  to-day. 
We  have  spent  it  in  imagination  almost  fifty  times 
over.  One  gentleman  remarking  that  it  was  but  a 
small  addition,  I  told  him  that  it  was  a  good  deal 
pleasanter  than  to  hear  that  fifty  had  been  taken 
oflF. 

In  the  summer  of  i860  my  father  took  a  horse- 
back journey  with  his  young  friend  and  opposite 
neighbor,  Charles  A.  Boies.    The  route  they  took 
was  one  that  is  a  favorite  with  motorists  to-day, 
[  139  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

for  their  journey  included  part  of  the  Connecticut 
Valley,  the  Green  Mountains,  the  Berkshlres,  and 
the  Catskills.  No  tourists  of  the  present  day  as 
they  flash  through  town  after  town  can  get  greater 
enjoyment  out  of  their  journey  than  did  the  two 
horseback  riders,  whose  unsatisfactory  stable  horses 
shied  at  the  stage-coaches  as  they  passed,  and  re- 
fused to  accommodate  themselves  to  the  saddles, 
which  had  evidently  been  borrowed  for  the  occa- 
sion. It  was  a  leisurely  progress,  as  in  almost  every 
town,  one  or  the  other  of  the  equestrians  had 
friends  whom  they  both  stopped  to  see,  and  as  an 
invitation  to  a  dinner  or  supper  usually  followed, 
their  trip  was  a  delightfully  social  affair.  In  Wal- 
pole,  for  instance,  they  had  their  supper  at  the 
Frederick  Knapps',  then  made  a  call  on  Dr.  Bel- 
lows, and  afterwards  went  to  see  another  friend 
who,  to  quote  from  a  letter  of  my  father's,  "got  an 
antediluvian  pair  of  saddle-bags  from  his  barn 
which  proved  so  much  more  capacious  than  mine 
that  I  carried  them  in  front  (or  rather  over  the 
others)  to  Bellows  Falls  and  there  sent  back  Orren 
French's  to  Keene,  and  rejoiced  in  finding  that  I 
could  pack  both  my  rubber  coat  and  my  waistcoat 
in  the  K.  bags." 
The  beginning  of  the  year  1859  was  marked  by  a 
[  140  1 


EARLY  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

great  joy,  only  too  soon  to  be  followed  by  a  lasting 
sorrow.  Mr.  White's  only  son  was  born  January  24, 
and  named  for  his  grandfather,  Daniel  Appleton 
White.  A  few  weeks  of  intense  happiness  were 
followed  on  March  5  by  the  baby's  death  of  scarlet 
fever  taken  from  the  older  child. 

It  was  only  two  years  later  that  my  father  had  to 
face  a  grief  of  another  kind,  for  his  father  died  on 
March  30,  1 86 1,  after  a  brief  illness,  in  perfect 
possession  of  his  faculties,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four 
years,  nine  months,  and  twenty-three  days. 

My  father  thus  writes  to  my  mother  from  Salem 
on  April  6,  1861:  — 

"Only  one  week  ago  this  morning  I  was  carrying 
a  note  to  Dr.  Wheatland,  of  the  Institute,  with 
Father's  autograph  and  returning  to  find  that  he 
had  asked  for  me  and  was  waiting  to  dictate  two 
business  letters.  So  time  recedes.  The  precious 
memories  of  that  morning,  the  hymns  and  prayers 
and  loving  words  will  never  be  again  even  so  near 
in  memory  as  the  distance  of  a  week.  And  yet  how 
much  nearer  the  heart  they  will  always  be  than 
multitudes  of  impressions  of  the  very  day  and  hour 
through  which  we  may  be  passing.  Each  day  is 
bringing  the  signal  for  our  own  departure  nearer. 
How  short  the  interval  must  seem,  to  those  who 
[  141  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

are  already  "on  the  other  side,"  that  will  elapse 
before  we  join  them!  How  short  the  separation 
between  Father  and  Mary!  Let  us  only  be  ready 
to  say,  'May  I  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and 
may  my  last  end  be  like  his!'" 

In  writing  to  his  elder  daughter,  March  29,  1874, 
he  says:  — 

"To-morrow  (30th)  makes  just  thirteen  years 
since  your  Grandfather  White's  death.  I  shall  be 
happy  indeed  if  I  can  know  (as  I  hope  he  now  does) 
that  I  live  on  half  as  vividly  in  my  children's  minds 
after  I  have  left  the  world  as  he  does  in  mine.  The 
reality  of  his  constant  influence  over  me  is  far 
greater  than  that  of  many  living  friends." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   CIVIL  WAR 
1861-1865 

In  1 861  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White's  peaceful  life  in 
Keene  was  shadowed  by  the  Civil  War,  which 
cloud  for  the  next  four  years  hung  like  a  black  pall 
over  the  country.  Their  hearts  were  wrung  by  the 
sorrows  of  their  parishioners,  and  it  was  peculiarly 
hard  for  them  personally,  as  four  of  Mr.  White's 
nephews  fought  for  their  country,  two  of  whom 
gave  their  lives  for  her,  while  two  of  Mrs.  White's 
brothers  were  in  the  Northern  army  and  two  in  the 
Southern.  Those  years  were  full  of  the  absorbing 
interest  of  work  connected  with  the  war  for  both 
of  them.  Mrs.  White  was  very  active  in  sewing  for 
the  soldiers,  and  there  were  days  when  the  parson- 
age was  full  of  parishioners,  scraping  lint  or  making 
bandages,  and  the  smallest  children  in  the  parish 
caught  the  patriotic  fire  and  made  comfort  bags 
for  the  soldiers,  sometimes  putting  In  a  note,  and 
having  the  great  joy  of  getting  an  answer.  The 
views  of  their  elders  were  intensified  by  these 
[  143  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

young  things  until  a  "rebel"  was  a  synonym  of  all 
that  was  most  wicked  and  depraved. 

Mr.  White's  voice  had  never  given  an  uncertain 
sound,  nor  was  he  one  who,  had  he  been  living  in 
1914,  could  have  remained  "strictly  neutral."  He 
had  always  been  bitterly  opposed  to  slavery,  and 
he  espoused  the  cause  of  the  North  with  his  whole 
heart.  The  fact  that  there  were  a  few  Southern 
sympathizers  in  his  congregation,  one  or  two  of 
them  of  social  prominence,  made  no  difference  in 
his  course.  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  preach  as  con- 
science bade  him.  On  one  occasion  a  parishioner  of 
distinction,  for  whom  he  had  a  high  regard,  got  up 
in  the  middle  of  a  sermon  and  walked  out  of  church, 
never  to  return.  Mr.  White  regretted  the  occur- 
rence, but  it  made  no  difference  in  his  preaching. 
If  he  occasionally  made  an  enemy  by  his  emphatic 
ways,  he  more  often  retained  the  respect  and  per- 
sonal liking  of  those  who  differed  from  him. 

The  letters  and  extracts  which  follow  show  the 
way  in  which  the  pattern  of  those  years  was  woven, 
and  the  occasional  bright  strands  which  stood  out 
against  the  sombre  background. 


[  144  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Salem,  April  24,  1861. 

I  saw  Mr.  Quincy  and  Mr.  Savage  yesterday  and 
found  them  earnest  and  patriotic  at  the  respective 
ages  of  eighty-nine  and  seventy-five,  and  I  found 
a  whole  city  full  of  flying  flags,  Washington  Street 
looking  beautifully  with  tier  upon  tier  of  colors  as 
you  looked  down  the  street.  Here  in  Salem  the 
City  Hall  mounts  a  handsome  flag  and  the  towers 
at  the  railroad,  each,  one.  At  the  little  station  of 
Lincoln  on  the  Fitchburg  Road  the  cabman's  horse 
wore  his  little  flag. 

M.  E.  W.  TO  R.  H.  W. 

Sunday,  May  5,  1861. 

My  dear  Mother:  — 

I  am  going  to  write  to  you  about  our  interesting 
service  this  morning,  for  I  am  afraid  William  will 
not  tell  you  about  it. 

Just  before  church,  Mr.  FIske  (who  is  one  of  the 
officers,  under  Government,  in  this  State,  and  who 
leaves  his  home  to-morrow,  with  the  troops  from 
here,  for  Portsmouth,  and  who  is  liable  to  be  called 
to  the  seat  of  war,  at  any  moment)  came  to  ask 
William  to  christen  his  baby,  before  church.  When 
we  got  into  the  church,  we  found,  to  our  surprise, 
[  145  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

that  the  recruits  were  assembled  there,  in  the  side 
pews  —  those  of  them,  at  least,  who  are  in  town 
to-day. 

Presently  Mr.  Fiske  and  his  beautiful  wife 
walked  in  with  their  lovely  baby,  and  the  touching 
service  was  performed,  directly  in  front  of  this 
body  of  rough-looking  men.  There  was  something 
very  affecting  in  the  sight  of  that  helpless  little 
one,  knowing,  as  we  did  the  peculiar  uncertainties 
of  the  future  which  lay  before  it,  and  in  the  con- 
trast of  the  sweet  picture  of  home  and  happiness 
and  love  which  it  called  up,  and  the  visions  of 
hardship  and  bloodshed  which  the  sight  of  the 
browned  faces  of  the  men  brought  to  mind. 

The  hymn  before  the  sermon  fell  on  softened 
hearts  and  many  tears  fell  when  we  sang,  — 

"Oh!  let  us  seek  our  heavenly  home 
Revealed  in  sacred  lore; 
The  land  whence  pilgrims  never  roam, 
Where  soldiers  war  no  more. 

Where  they  who  meet  shall  never  part,"  etc. 

Then  came  William's  sermon,  from  2  Timothy, 
II,  4^  and  which  could  not  have  been  more  appro- 
priate to  the  occasion  if  he  had  known  who  his 

'  "  No  man  that  warreth  entangleth  himself  with  the  affairs  of  this 
life;  that  he  may  please  him  who  hath  chosen  him  to  be  a  soldier." 

[   146] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

audience  were  to  be.  After  he  concluded  his  ser- 
mon, by  an  irresistible  impulse  he  turned  and  ad- 
dressed himself  directly  to  these  men  in  a  few 
forcible,  touching  words,  which  brought  the  tears 
from  the  eyes  of  the  men,  and  I  think  there  were 
few  dry  ones  among  the  audience. 

Then  followed  our  communion  service,  at  which 
we  had  another  baptism,  and  a  young  lady  was 
admitted  to  the  communion. 

We  came  home  feeling  that  few  days  could  offer 
so  many  exciting  interests.  But  what  a  season  of 
excitements  we  are  living  in!  Our  life  is  like  a  highly 
wrought  novel,  all  the  time,  nowadays,  and  how 
full  the  papers  are  of  noble  and  stirring  incidents! 
It  is  a  grand  thing  to  be  living  in  the  midst  of  such 
realities.  .  .  . 

I  have  been  working  very  hard  as  William  will 
tell  you  for  our  men.  .  .  . 

My  father  was  also  deeply  stirred  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  times.  He  writes  to  my  mother  from 
East  Cambridge,  on  June  30,  as  follows:  — 

"...  Then  I  went  and  awaited  in  Haymarket 
Square  the  departure  of  Colonel  Clark's  (nth) 
regiment  for  the  war,  on  its  way  from  the  Fitch- 
burg  to  the  Old  Colony  Depot.  This  column  of 
[  147] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

one  thousand  men  with  their  bayonets  glancing 
in  the  sun,  and  the  crowds  welcoming  them  as  they 
passed,  afforded  a  grand  sight,  the  like  of  which  I 
have  not  seen  before." 

M.  E.  W.  TO  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  February  13,  1862. 

.  .  .  Dear  William  opened  his  eyes,  on  his  birth- 
day morning,  saddened  by  the  thought  of  the 
precious  greeting  which,  until  now,  never  failed  to 
reach  him  upon  that  day,  but  deeply  grateful  for 
the  mercy  which  had  spared  his  own  little  home 
circle.  There  was  to  be  a  gathering  of  the  parish 
in  the  evening,  according  to  a  notice  given  on  Sun- 
day, and  as  I  have  not  been  well  enough  to  go  to 
any  of  these  gatherings  this  winter,  and  as  William 
seemed  anxious  to  have  me  go  with  him,  in  honor 
of  the  day,  I  rested  and  at  seven  o'clock  started  off 
with  him,  thinking  and  meaning  to  get  there  among 
the  first;  as  I  felt  the  usual  shrinking  from  encoun- 
tering a  great  many  people  at  once,  which  one,  long 
excluded  from  large  gatherings,  always  feels.  We 
were  very  much  surprised  to  find  upon  arriving 
every  appearance,  in  the  dressing-room,  of  there 
being  a  great  crowd  already  assembled.  We  found 
some  ladies  waiting  for  us,  to  hurry  us  up,  and  Dr. 
I  148  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

Ingersoll,  who  gave  me  his  arm  and  ushered  me 
into  the  hall,  following  William,  whom  Mr.Richards 
took  on  his  arm.  Once  across  the  threshold  and  we 
were  dazzled  by  a  flood  of  light,  and  found  our- 
selves in  a  room  beautifully  trimmed,  and  letters 
on  one  side,  of  evergreen,  "Teacher,  Pastor, 
Friend";  on  the  other,  "Welcome,  Feb.  12." 
Underneath  this  stood  a  long  table  brilliant  with 
candles  and  silver,  and  loaded  with  roast  turkeys, 
oysters,  salads,  ices,  etc.,  —  everything  pertaining 
to  a  splendid  supper;  and  the  whole  crowned  with 
two  vases  of  exquisite  greenhouse  flowers.  We  were 
carried  behind  the  table  and  seated,  in  front  of 
some  two  hundred  pairs  of  eyes,  and  Mr.  Richards, 
after  a  few  words  of  welcome,  introduced  Dr. 
Ingersoll,  who  made  a  tasteful  and  appropriate 
speech.  Then  Dr.  Thayer  presented  the  flowers  to 
William,  reading  some  very  beautiful  and  touching 
verses.  Then  a  blessing  was  asked  by  Dr.  Ingersoll 
and  the  supper  was  administered.  Nothing  could 
have  been  prettier  or  more  gratifying,  or  a  more 
complete  surprise,  than  the  whole  thing.  Our 
beautiful  flowers  make  our  parlor  to-day  look  as 
if  we  were  adorned  for  some  great  occasion,  and  a 
huge  frosted  cake  will  for  a  long  time  keep  us  in 
remembranceof  the  pleasant  "surprise  party."  .  .  . 
I  149  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  White  was  such  an 
ardent  Republican,  and  notwithstanding  the  occa- 
sional violence  of  his  language  in  regard  to  those 
on  the  other  side,  his  never-failing  interest  in  the 
individual  when  brought  into  direct  contact  with 
him  is  shown  by  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
written  on  June  29,  1862,  concerning  a  workman 
whom  he  employed  when  he  was  making  some 
alterations  on  his  house:  — 

"...  The  man,  the  other  workmen  say,  is  such 
a  Secessionist  (an  Englishman  from  Hartford)  that 
he  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  the  house.  I  reply 
that  he  does  not  talk  Secesh  to  me,  and  that  if  he 
does  to  them,  it  must  be  their  fault  if  they  don't 
convert  him.  Providence  having  sent  him  here, 
perhaps,  to  that  end." 

In  addition  to  altering  his  own  house,  my  father 
bought  the  next  house  to  his  as  an  investment. 
The  house  had  to  be  repaired  and  the  fences  moved. 
He  writes :  — 

"...  I  felt  quite  'set  up'  by  the  remark  of  an 
elderly  gentleman,  who  has  moved  in  here  from 
Charlestown,  New  Hampshire,  within  the  year, 
that  he  did  not  believe,  'so  I've  been  telling  them,' 
he  said,  'that  there  was  another  man  in  town  who 
could  have  got  all  those  fences  up  in  such  little 
[150] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

time.  It  beats  all.  I'd  no  idea  you'd  so  much  per- 
severance outdoors.'" 

The  letter  goes  on:  — 

"I  attended  two  rather  unusual  funerals  this 
week.  One  was  that  of  a  New  Brunswick  Indian 
woman,  Mrs.  Paul,  on  which  occasion  I  overheard 
more  derogatory  remarks  than  I  ever  before  lis- 
tened to  as  regards  myself,  so  near  the  threshold  of 
*  the  house  of  mourning.'  The  Irish  Catholic  women 
(for  Paulina  was  Catholic)  said:  'And  why  have  n't 
they  a  haerse  instade  o'  this  oogly  ould  cart.^*  Better 
have  been  without  the  minister  than  without  the 
haerse ;  it's  rale  mane  not  to  give  us  the  haerse.'' 

"The  other  was  the  funeral  of  one  who  had  liter- 
ally worked  while  it  was  day  and  even  into  the 
twilight.  It  was  an  Englishman  who  was  buried, 
Thomas  Musgrave  by  name,  some  said  brother  to 
a  Lord  Bishop.  He  wrought  faithfully  and  patiently 
as  a  dyer  in  our  woollen  factory  here  until  within 
some  seven  or  eight  days  of  his  death.  He  would 
have  been  eighty-nine  had  he  lived  three  days  longer. 
He  came  to  this  country  when  about  seventy-five. 
He  had  been  crippled  years  ago  in  the  wars  of 
Napoleon,  as  regarded  his  early  manufacturing 
enterprises.  His  son,  sixty-three  years  old,  from 
Mystic,  Connecticut,  was  here  as  chief  mourner.'* 
[  151  ]. 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

September  4,  1862. 

I  found  Margaret's  new  chamber  full  of  young 
ladles  making  bandages  and  scraping  lint  for  Dr. 
Twitchell  to  take  with  him  to  Washington.  One 
evening  last  week  I  heard  Dr.  T.  and  Dr.  Thayer 
announce  at  the  Town  Hall  that  they  were  going 
(for  three  years)  and  then  Mr.  Carter,  one  of  my 
young  married  parishioners,  a  fine  fellow,  and  then 
James  Elliot  from  College  and  Arthur  Elliot  his 
brother  came  forward  and  signed  their  names 
"offering  their  services  for  the  country." 

It  was  a  moving  sight.  Since  then  Mr.  Houston 
and  Mr.  Lewis  (like  Carter),  members  of  our  choir, 
have  enlisted. 

Sunday  before  last  I  preached  a  commemoration 
sermon  (and  our  services  were  all  of  a  similar  char- 
acter in  the  afternoon)  occasioned  by  the  loss  of 
Major  Dort's  wife  and  child  in  the  collision  on  the 
Potomac.  She  was  a  lovely  woman.  They  had  just 
returned  from  seeing  the  Major.  That  Sunday  he 
was  here,  having  returned  to  see  about  his  one 
little  surviving  child;  the  remains  had  not  then 
been  discovered. 

William  Chapin  (sutler)  is  prisoner  in  Richmond. 
Howard  is  soldier  in  McClellan's  bodyguard. 
Charles  (the  youngest),  I  saw  drilling  with  others 
[  152  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

in  Brattleboro  and  expecting  I  believe  to  go  to  the 

war. 

Dwight  Orne,  you  know,  is  in  Colonel  Barnes's 
regiment.  So  all  the  male  descendants  of  my  Grand- 
father Orne  are  substantially  there  but  myself. 

My  father  thus  writes  to  his  mother  after  the 
death  of  his  nephew,  Wilder  Dwight:  — 

Keene,  October  2,  1862. 
Just  a  week  ago  to-day,  we  met  upon  the  occasion 
of  those  solemn  and  affecting  services.  Such  a  day 
is  always  more  or  less  sad,  but  as  I  look  back  on 
that  Thursday,  its  track  of  light  seems  brighter 
than  I  can  remember  associating  with  any  similar 
occasion.  Here  was  not  merely  the  termination  of 
life  which  may  come  to  save  the  young  sometimes 
from  the  evil  to  come,  or  the  aged  from  the  burden 
of  infirmities,  or  the  lonely  from  desolation,  or  the 
sick  from  torturing  pain.  But  some  purpose  was 
accomplished  by  the  very  dying  itself;  it  is  ex- 
pected that  such  as  go  into  the  service  shall  take 
their  life  in  their  hand.  Had  none  been  willing  to 
die  for  their  country  we  should  have  no  country 
worth  the  name.  The  very  dying,  then,  becomes 
connected  with  our  earthly  salvation.  Wilder  rises 
[  153  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

before  me  now,  as  our  true  benefactor.  He  has  died 
for  us,  his  kindred.  Whatever  we  Hve  to  enjoy, 
when  the  strife  is  over,  we  may  feel  that  he  has,  in 
part,  laid  down  his  life  for  us.  You  have  character- 
ized exceedingly  well,  "the  heart,  the  mind,  the 
eloquent  voice  that  fitted  him  to  serve  his  country." 
He  has  indeed  shown  how  "he  could  be  a  tender 
nurse,  as  well  as  a  devoted  friend  and  a  brave 
soldier." 

It  was  very  gratifying  as  well  as  instructive  to 
find  that  the  parents  who  so  idolized  him,  could 
bear  their  loss  in  a  spirit  at  once  so  brave  and  so 
Christian.  They  have  certainly  evinced  that  Wilder 
was  indeed  their  own  child,  "bone  of  their  bone, 
and  flesh  of  their  flesh."  They  have  caught  the 
inspiration  of  his  sublime  death.  No  written  words 
I  ever  saw,  so  lifted  up  my  heart,  as  that  blood- 
sealed  record  which  showed  that  he  who  was  writ- 
ing, had  already  entered  "into  that  which  is  within 
the  veil." 

The  sermon  that  Mr.  White  preached  on  a 
Thanksgiving  Day  during  this  time  reflects  con- 
ditions so  similar  to  those  of  to-day,  that  it  might 
almost  be  preached  word  for  word  as  it  stands,  in 
reference  to  the  European  War. 
[  154] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 
Here  is  a  part  of  it,  — 

'  Come  near  and  bring  sacrifices  and  thank  offerings  into 
the  house  of  the  Lord.    2  Chron.  xxix,  31. 

"  Surely,  to-day,  for  the  nation's  dead,  we  have  a 
thank  offering  to  render.  The  very  soil  is  made 
sacred  as  their  resting  place.  What  have  we  to  be  so 
thankful  for?  They  have  gone  onward;  we,  in  our 
turn,  must  all  follow.  When  wasting  disease  assails 
us,  then  the  memory  of  their  heroic  sacrifice  will 
rebuke  us,  if  we  be  tempted  to  murmur;  when  'the 
last  enemy,'  that  spectre  of  death,  as  he  has  so 
often  been  regarded,  stands  before  our  very  eyes, 
and  we  feel  trembling  and  afraid,  then  the  bright 
thought  of  those  armies  who  stood  up  unflinchingly 
beneath  the  frowning  shadow  of  his  iron  scythe, 
will  fill  our  hearts  with  unutterable  shame  if  we 
cannot  say  with  their  calmness,  'Lord,  I  bow  to 
thee,  the  great  Commander,  I  follow  thy  word, 
lead  thou  me  on,  thou  Lord  of  Hosts,  through  the 
thickening  shadows  in  the  way  thou  shalt  appoint.' 
When  we  grow  too  much  absorbed  in  buying  and 
selling  and  getting  gain,  then  the  memory  of  their 
valor,  their  unselfish  offering  of  their  very  lives  for 
truth,  honor,  justice  and  liberty,  will  fill  us  with 
scorn  and  loathing  of  ourselves,  if  we  do  not  wisely 
[  155  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

and  generously  devote  the  lives  made  worth  the 
living  only  through  their  sacrifice,  to  ends  akin  to 
those  great  objects  for  which  they  poured  out  their 
blood.  That  field  of  Gettysburg,  over  whose  buried 
patriots  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  nation  implored 
that  we  might  be  dedicated  anew  to  the  country 
for  which  they  died;  that  field  over  which  he 
walked,  arm  in  arm  with  that  old  man  of  threescore 
years  and  ten  who  rushed  forth  from  his  work  shop 
on  the  eve  of  the  4th  of  July  to  join  our  brave 
forces,  comes  before  our  minds  and  testifies  that 
we  ought  to  offer  some  thank  offering  for  our  price- 
less dead.  Who  now  grudges  stitches  taken  that 
those  wayworn  and  weary  feet  might  be  clothed, 
that  those  heads  now  safely  shielded  from  earthly 
suns,  might  be  cooled?  Who  now  laments  that  he 
did  so  much  for  those  whose  lives  were  given  for 
him?  Bring  in  then  a  thank  offering  into  the  house 
of  the  Lord.  For  what  would  those  ascended  spirits, 
who  found  their  fiery  car  ready  to  bear  them  up 
from  many  a  hard-fought  field,  reply,  were  we  to 
ask  them  what  thank  offering  we  shall  render  to 
their  memory?  Would  not  they  all  say,  'Give  of 
your  abundance  to  them  unto  whom  we  have  be- 
queathed the  cause  we  died  for.  Remember  the 
hospitals  we  languished  in,  the  regiments  out  of 
I  156  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

which  the  angel  of  death  hath  gathered  us,  while 
we  look  on  from  above  in  anxious  expectation, 
praying  that  the  work  sealed  by  our  blood  may  not 
be  dishonored  by  our  countrymen.' " 

And  here  is  an  extract  from  a  Christmas  sermon 
he  preached  during  the  Civil  War:  — 

"This  child  is  set  for  the  fall  and  rising  again  of  many  in 
Israel.   Luke  ii,  34. 

"Once  more  Bethlehem  with  its  moonlit  slopes 
and  thronging  pilgrims;  again  the  echoes  of  that 
music  which  swept  the  midnight  air  long  centuries 
ago!  New  to  us,  indeed,  the  heart-piercing  con- 
trast between  the  promise  of  peace  on  earth,  good- 
will toward  men,  and  the  sullen  tramp  of  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  armed  men  within  our  own  borders. 
New  to  us,  but  not  new  to  the  world;  the  same  sad 
drama  has  been  rehearsed  in  other  lands  on  many 
a  Christmas  Eve,  nor  has  the  seemingly  bitter 
mockery  of  the  angels'  song  availed  to  hide  from 
men's  hearts  the  memory  of  the  time  when  Jesus 
was  born  in  Bethlehem  of  Judaea. 

May  we  not  say  that  it  almost  needs  our  being 

brought  face  to  face  with  the  miseries  of  war  to 

make  us  approach  a  true   understanding  of  the 

blessings  which  the  world  must  experience,  when 

[  157] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

He* shall'  everywhere  'reign  whose  right  it  is  to 
reign.'  Now^  at  least,  we  know  how  to  hail  the 
birth  of  the  Prince  of  Peace.  Now  we  perceive 
what  the  return  of  this  anniversary  must  have 
meant  to  Christians  who  could  only  celebrate  it 
in  gloomy  caves  where  they  must  have  been  more 
reminded  of  him  who  lay  three  days  and  three 
nights  in  the  heart  of  the  earth,  than  of  the 
child  lying  in  the  manger.  Now  we  understand 
how  its  festive  and  exuberant  mirth  must  have 
mildly  flashed  upon  the  storm  cloud  in  those 
dreary  years  of  contest  between  Puritan  and  Cav- 
alier, like  the  electric  lights  which  at  night  some- 
times gild  the  crests  of  the  heaving  ocean.  'On 
earth,  peace!'  Say,  has  the  holy  season  yet 
dawned  upon  a  world  at  peace.'*  Has  it  ever  seen  a 
nation  where  there  were  no  hearthstones  at  which 
the  absent  warrior  was  remembered,  or  where  the 
cherished  traditions  of  ancestral  valor  were  not 
recounted.''  God  sanctify  to  us  the  coming  of  a 
festival  which  restores  to  our  minds  the  vision  of 
the  innumerable  privileges  and  joys  of  a  true  peace! 
We  may  be  too  much  in  danger  of  becoming  dazzled 
by  the  glory  of  success,  or  at  least  of  being  too  pas- 
sionately athirst  for  it.  We  are  learning  to  hear 
coldly  of  the  slaughter  of  hundreds  of  men,  if  they 
[  158] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

did  not  happen  to  fall  upon  our  side;  when  the 
destruction  of  half  as  many  upon  a  railroad  would 
awaken  our  profound  compassion  for  the  survivors. 
Thus  it  is  that  War,  the  stern,  hard  featured  nurse, 
in  whose  arms  alone  the  savage  nations  are  fondled, 
is  fast  imparting  to  us  somewhat  of  the  spirit  which 
she  Imparts  to  them.  O,  let  not  these  hallowed 
hours  fail  to  disabuse  us  somewhat  of  the  baleful 
spell  which  she  weaves  around  us!  Let  us  be  saved 
from  the  peril  of  adoring  war  as  war.  Let  us  deter- 
mine. In  our  own  minds,  that  although  we  can 
trace  beneficent  compensations. in  the  midst  of  the 
wretchedness  which  war  creates,  it  is  the  cause 
alone  which  at  this  age  of  the  world  can  afford  any 
palliation  for  a  resort  to  its  bloody  arbitrament  on 
the  part  of  enlightened  nations.  Once  in  the  year, 
at  least,  we  cannot  help  being  reminded  that  to  live 
among  'wars  and  rumors  of  wars'  Is  to  breathe  a 
pestiferous  atmosphere,  to  live  unnaturally.  Rap- 
idly we  seem  to  be  travelling  backwards  over  the 
pages  of  history;  we  have  lost  our  mark;  we  have 
opened  at  the  wrong  volume,  when  from  these 
sweet  emblems  of  prophecy,  these  peace-breathing 
buds  of  promise,  we  look  out  in  imagination  from 
these  windows  and  are  startled  by  beholding  the 
manifold  paraphernalia  of  battle. 
[  159] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

But  peace — the  peace  of  which  the  angels  sang, 
the  peace  on  whose  makers  Christ  commanded  a 
blessing,  is  not  inaction  or  torpor.  Else  Christ 
might  as  well  have  said,  'Blessed  are  they  that 
sleep.'  How  strangely  indeed  would  it  read  among 
those  benedictions,  'Happy  are  they  who  sleep 
over  the  miseries  of  their  country.'  'Blessed  are 
all  they  who  will  let  the  wicked  have  their  own  way.' 
"'Why  stand  ye  here  all  the  day  idle.'"  Is  not 
that  in  your  Bible  as  well  as  precepts  inculcating 
forgiveness.'' 

An  idle  Christian,  even  in  peaceable  times,  is 
a  self-contradiction;  but  an  idle  Christian  or  an 
idle  patriot  in  the  hour  when  the  institutions 
which  have  been  his  country's  glory  are  treach- 
erously assailed  shall  never  win  the  fair  fame  of  a 
peace-maker.  And  we  may  remember  that  though 
we  be  commanded  to  love  our  enemies;  —  'Let 
thine  enemy  alone;  give  him  the  field,'  is  nowhere 
enjoined. 

We  must  confess  then  that  if  peace  is  not  the 
reward  of  idleness,  or  the  boon  of  subserviency, 
there  is  often  something  for  men  and  for  nations  to 
do  in  order  to  obtain  a  peace  worthy  the  name. 
True,  hearty,  enlightened,  enduring  peace  comes 
through  struggle." 

[  i6o  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

In  a  letter  of  July  13,  1863,  he  says  concerning  a 
trip  from  Yonkers  to  New  York :  — 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Seeing  a  pleasant-looking  young  officer  coming 
In  among  the  crowd,  I  offered  him  a  seat.  He 
proved  to  be  Assistant  Surgeon  T.  T.  Minor,  of  the 
First  South  Carolina  Volunteers.  Speaking  warmly 
of  his  Colonel  (Thomas  Wentworth  HIgglnson),  I 
mentioned  my  early  acquaintance  with  him.  So 
we  soon  got  acquainted,  very  well  acquainted. 
Indeed,  by  the  time  he  reached  Worcester.  I  was 
very  much  pleased  with  him,  and  with  what  he 
had  to  say  about  the  blacks.  He  spoke  of  their 
funny  language  as  exhibited  at  times;  for  instance, 
when  he  would  say  to  a  sick  man,  "Tom,  how  are 
you  this  morning?" 

"O!  Massa,  pretty  mis'able,  t'ank  God."  .  .  . 

I  am  very  sorry  to  read  about  the  New  York 
riot.  I  dare  say  in  a  week  the  city  will  be  under 
martial  law.  But  on  Saturday  nothing  could  be 
quieter  than  the  drafting  exhibition  at  No.  677 
Third  Avenue  where  I  spent  some  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  being  Interested  in  watching  the  turning 
of  the  wheel,  and  the  calling  of  the  names. 

[  161  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 
To  M.  E.  W. 

Boston,  7.30  a.m.  Wednesday, 
July  15,  1863. 

.  .  .  You  will  read  of  bloody  scenes  here  last 
night.  I  saw  nothing  of  them.  All  Is  pretty  quiet 
in  Dock  Square  this  morning.  They  quelled  the 
riot  here  in  the  only  effectual  way.  Alas,  for  Gov- 
ernor Seymour,  sending  to  Washington  for  a  sus- 
pension of  the  New  York  draft,  and  temporizing 
with  the  riot.  Martial  law,  which  should  shut  up 
every  liquor  den  in  that  city  till  the  draft  is  through 
with,  is  the  needed  thing,  it  seems  to  me;  but  if 
New  York  likes  better  a  reign  of  wild  beasts  than 
one  of  soldiers,  so  be  it. 

M.  E.  W.  TO  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  September  24,  1863. 
I  have  been  peculiarly  engaged  in  helping  ar- 
range a  table  of  refreshments,  on  the  Fair  Grounds, 
for  the  Soldiers'  Aid  Society.  .  .  .  Our  enterprise 
for  the  soldiers,  was  quite  successful;  we  have 
cleared  one  hundred  dollars,  which  is  a  good  deal 
of  money  to  make  out  of  pies  and  doughnuts. 
I  was  on  the  grounds  yesterday  eight  hours,  work- 
ing hard  all  the  time,  without  time  to  eat  anything 
but  a  biscuit,  and  did  not  get  over-tired.  This  will 
f  162  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

show  you  how  well  I  am.  I  am  grateful,  I  can  assure 
you,  for  so  much  health  and  strength.  William, 
too,  Is  working  as  only  a  well  man  can. 

There  is  a  homely  record  of  this  year  which  will 
appeal  to  housekeepers.  My  father,  during  my 
mother's  absence,  was  confronted  by  a  junk  ped- 
ler,  and  got  rid  of  a  number  of  articles,  among 
others  an  old  copper  teakettle,  copper  bringing 
seventeen  cents  a  pound,  old  lead,  for  which  he 
got  seven  and  a  half  cents  a  pound,  and  cotton, 
which  brought  from  eighteen  to  twenty  cents  a 
pound  according  to  Its  quality. 

W.  O.  W.  TO  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
February  i6,  1864. 

...  I  was  busy  yesterday  in  making  ready  for  the 
reception  of  the  parish  at  our  house  in  the  evening, 
or  you  would  have  heard  from  me  a  day  earlier.  We 
had  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  guests,  or 
(together  with  our  own  family)  one  hundred  and 
thirty-three  people,  all  but  three  of  whom  were 
connected  with  the  parish;  a  pretty  good  represen- 
tation. And  when  I  remembered  that  the  well- 
thronged  rooms  included  just  the  number  of  the 
[  163  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

last  Sunday  afternoon's  audience,  it  occurred  to 
me  that  afternoon  audiences  would  look  less  lean, 
compared  with  the  morning  ones,  were  they  com- 
pacted into  the  rooms  of  a  dwelling-house.  We 
have  some  forty-two  new  names  connected  with 
the  parish  as  heads  of  families  or  as  single  people 
since  January  i,  1863:  of  these  a  goodly  number 
were  present  last  evening.  So  were  five  of  the  eight 
brides  of  the  parish.  .  .  .  One  "son  of  thunder,"  in 
especial,  whose  arrival  I  had  somewhat  dreaded, 
remained  at  home  for  the  Christian  discipline  of  a 
Grandmother  (who  has  seen  better  days,  or  eve- 
nings) ;  while  his  disencumbered  parents  took  their 
places  cheerfully  among  our  guests.  .  .  .  The  moon 
guided  home  our  good  Mr.  Nourse  and  wife  and 
adopted  child  to  their  home  on  Beech  Hill,  and 
Mr.  C.  K.  Colony  and  wife,  and  our  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Billings,  to  their  homes  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village.  .  .  . 

Old  Mrs.  Fitch  made  her  visit  before  the  evening 
hour  yesterday,  spending  about  fifteen  minutes 
between  four  and  five,  as  she  lives  a  mile  off,  nearly. 
She  brought  two  little  paper  and  cloth  birds  which 
vibrate  now  among  our  flowers.  She  did  not  like 
her  Mrs.  T.  and  had  summarily  dismissed  her. 
Mrs.  T.  would  sit  up  late  and  get  up  late.  Then 
[  164  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

she  was  a  "spiritist"  and  would  tell  Mrs.  Fitch 
that  she  heard  in  the  stove  the  spirit  of  an  old 
woman  that  she  once  took  care  of,  that  died  of 
dropsy;  such  divertisements  did  not  chime  in  with 
Mrs.  F.'s  mood,  so  she  is  now  alone  again. 

We  are  rejoicing  in  our  winter  Sunday-School 
which  our  lengthened  intermission  affords  us. 
Margaret  has  a  full  class  of  married  women.  .  .  . 
We  count  some  one  hundred  and  three  (teachers 
and  all)  some  Sundays,  and  have  generally  some 
ninety-eight  or  one  hundred:  far  better  than  lying 
dormant  as  we  once  did  with  our  hour's  intermis- 
sion, and  which  was  the  custom  when  I  came.  Still, 
I  sometimes  miss  my  little  gathering  of  children 
which  for  three  years  past  (in  default  of  Sunday- 
School)  I  had  after  the  afternoon  meeting  (at 
church). 

To  D.  A.  W.  AND  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
April  17,  1864. 

This  is  the  eighth   Sunday  that  I  have  been 

at  home  (including  Fast,  as  good  as  nine),  but  on 

one  of  them  I  had  a  supply,  and  on  another  I 

occupied ( !)  the  Orthodox  pulpit,  as  you  have  heard, 

in  connection  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  during  the  fore- 

[  165  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

noon,  on  occasion  of  the  funerals  of  two  men  in- 
jured by  the  steam  explosion.  .  .  . 

Well,  we  have  made  indeed  an  "overturn"  in 
our  domestic  affairs,  and  never  in  our  history  as  a 
little  household  has  a  transition  been  so  comfort- 
ably made  from  what  was  so  satisfactory  to  some- 
thing equally  so,  possibly  more  so  in  the  end.  The 
new  girls  require  guidance  from  the  mistress;  but 
they  are  sweet-tempered,  refined,  intelligent;  can 
appreciate  Margaret's  thoughtful  care  for  them, 
and  seem  part  of  the  family,  to  an  extent,  without 
showing  any  pushing  or  forthputting  proclivities. 
They  incline  to  go  to  church  with  us,  at  least,  after 
one  or  two  Sundays'  experience,  though  more 
"strictly"  brought  up.  With  arms  round  one  an- 
other's shoulders  (they  are  cousins)  they  are  stand- 
ing by  the  piano,  singing  (in  the  parlor,  under  me) 
psalm  tunes  with  Margaret  and  the  children.  .  .  . 

God  give  you  much  to  rejoice  in,  this  coming 
year,  including  brighter  days  for  the  country,which 
I  trust  you  will  live  to  see  with  her  sword  sheathed, 
and  her  clanking  chain  which  began  to  grate  before 
you  were  born,  broken  to  powder!  .  .  . 

The  two  cousins  referred  to  in  the  above  letter 
were  refined  young  women  from   small  country 
f  i66  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

towns,  who  had  never  been  In  service.  They  did 
the  work  of  the  house,  having  their  meals  together 
in  the  kitchen  and  spending  their  evenings  there, 
but  in  the  late  afternoon  joining  the  household 
under  the  trees,  while  my  mother  read  aloud  from 
"The  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

All  the  social  complications  which  arose  from 
such  an  unusual  experiment  were  met  with  per- 
fect simplicity  on  both  sides.  Susan  the  cook  had 
a  brother  who  was  a  Congregational  minister,  and 
on  one  occasion  he  came  to  see  her.  He  was  In- 
vited by  my  mother  to  stay  to  dinner,  and  dined 
with  us,  while  his  sister  cooked  the  dinner  and  his 
cousin  waited  on  table. 

In  writing  to  the  Reverend  Edward  Everett  Hale, 
on  February  21,  1865,  concerning  a  possible  pulpit 
for  a  fellow  minister,  Mr.  White  says:  "He  will  be 
very  glad  of  a  'look'  at  an  empty  pulpit,  or,  from 
such  a  desk  at  an  'inviting'  congregation.  ...  I 
hope  he  will  not  feel  compelled  to  abdicate  the  pul- 
pit, —  as  such,  —  and  take  up  teaching  altogether. 
For  I  do  not  think  that  the  new  kind  of  homlllzers 
that  we  raise  will,  all  of  them,  come  up  to  him  In 
serviceable  qualities,  even  though  among  them  (the 
preachers)  there  be  any  who  think  that  the  last, 
[  167] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

best  utterance  from  heaven  is  their  own  sweet  voice. 

"'What  good  would  the  swallowing  a  button  do 
the  little  boy,'  you  know. 

Don't  see  as  't  would  do  him  any  good/  said 
*sis,'  "cept  he  should  swallow  a  buttonhole  too.' 

*'So  I  show  you  (in  B.)  a  button,  and  if  some- 
body has  already  troubled  you  with  the  button- 
hole (an  empty  pulpit),  why,  maybe,  you  can  see 
how  the  two  would  fit.  Of  course  I  should  n't 
trouble  you  with  any  match-making  of  this  kind, 
save  that,  like  your  Uncle  Edward  of  blessed  mem- 
ory, you  live  for  this  sort  of  thing,  that  is,  the 
relieving  the  dilemmas  of  all  sorts  of  people." 

A  year  later  he  writes  to  Dr.  Hale  as  follows :  — 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
February  12,  1866. 

Dear  E.  E.  H.:  — 

The  last  "Register"  was  remarkably  good;  freer 
also  from  typographical  errors  than  usual.  The 
paper,  of  late  years,  has  had  an  evil  distinction  in 
this  regard.  So  did  our  Keene  paper  for  a  series  of 
years,  when  they  printed  in  an  obituary  "all  my 
prings  are  in  thee,"  and  gravely  discussed  the 
matter  thinking  it  some  Bible  phrase  that  scholars 
would  understand.  It  is  now  uncommonly  free  from 
[  168  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

them,  simply  because  the  present  proof-reader,  a 
young  mechanic,  is  accurate  and  has  a  quick  eye. 
Think  of  such  errors  in  the  "Advertiser"  !  !  ! 

Week  before  last,  it  seemed  as  if  the  Evil  One 
had  been  at  work,  mixing  up  the  types,  and  no 
wonder  if  he  does  such  work  that  his  name  is 
germane  to  newspaperial  establishments.  For  in- 
stance, look  at  February  3d's  "Register,"  page 
3d,  over  "Marriages,"  where  Professor  Blot  is 
talked  about  who  surely  would  think  that  he  had  it 
on  his  'scutcheon.  Just  think,  in  my  notice  of 
Bushnell's  book,  the  "Register"  made  me  speak  of 
his  kindly  words,  instead  of  his  kindling  words. 

My  wife,  with  considerable  esprit  de  corps,  re- 
joices in  some  error  in  this  week's  "Inquirer"; 
nothing  so  racy  as  the  above,  however. 

But  supreme  among  all  the  errors  was  one  which 
my  father  used  to  quote  with  glee  in  after  years, 
though  at  the  time  it  gave  him  considerable  annoy- 
ance. He  had  written  to  the  "Christian  Register" 
of  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  Dr.  William  H. 
Furness's  supplications  during  some  service,  and 
certainly  the  printer's  devil  must  have  been  around 
on  that  occasion,  for  the  reader  learned  of  Dr. 
Furness's  "supple  actions." 
[  169] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
March  10,  1865. 

My  dear  Mother:  — 

...  I  felt  as  if  you  must  have  exceedingly  re- 
joiced in  the  inaugural  6f  Mr.  Lincoln.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  period  of  our  atonement  were  coming  round 
to  have  such  anti-slavery  feeling  welling  out,  at 
last,  pure  and  strong  from  the  lips  of  the  chief  of 
the  nation. 

You  must  value  the  privilege  of  still  having  the 
good  use  of  your  eyes,  were  it  only  to  read,  as  you 
sit  alone,  some  of  the  utterances,  as  well  as  much 
of  the  history,  to  which  this  war  has  given  rise.  .  .  . 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Boston,  85  Pinckney  St., 

Saturday,  March  18,  1865. 

.  .  .  My  day  yesterday  was  about  lost.  The  9.15 
train  from  Keene  reached  us  while  we  stood  linger- 
ing, shivering  on  the  brink,  — 

"And  feared  to  launch  away" 

from  the  angry,  furious,  overgrown  current  of 
Scott's  Brook,  just  below  Fitzwilliam.  Scott's 
Brook  was  sweeping  quite  across  the  track.  We 
made  two  or  three  periodical  excursions  in  the 
[  170  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

cars  to  the  brook  and  back  to  Fitzwilllam,  only  to 
find  the  current  rising.  At  last  they  propped  up  the 
rails  with  wood  and  a  handcar  boldly  went  across, 
and  afterwards  by  repeated  excursions,  it  took  all 
the  passengers  and  then  the  baggage.  Walking  a 
mile,  I  came  to  another  ugly  place,  a  caving-in,  in 
front  of  which  the  train  from  Boston  had  passed. 
This  was  short,  however,  compared  with  the  former 
and  was  planked  over.  The  first  intimation  that 
we  were  likely  to  get  on  to  Boston  which  I  received, 
was  the  meeting  F.  E.  Allen  walking  from  the  east 
on  his  way  to  the  Keene  cars.  Perhaps  he  called  to 
see  you.  It  was  three  o'clock  before  we  were  headed 
once  more  for  Boston,  and  my  express  train  reached 
said  city  at  6  p.m. 

During  our  detention  I  set  off"  on  a  foraging  expe- 
dition, and  knocked  at  the  back  door  of  a  wee  red 
house.  *'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  White,"  was  the 
response.  It  proved  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  whom 
I  had  twice  married,  a  Mrs.  Hovey.  She  handed 
me  mince  pie  and  doughnuts  which  I  was  glad  to 
grapple  with,  having  had  only  apples  and  hard 
crackers  in  the  morning.  But  the  car  bell  rang, 
and  with  my  slice  of  pie  in  my  hand,  I  ran.  .  .  . 


[  171  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Milton,  Massachusetts, 
Tuesday,  March  21,  1865.   9.30  a.m. 

I  went  from  Chelsea  to  East  Boston  and  spent 
a  long  hour  or  more  with  my  "Great"  Uncle 
Haynes.  I  was  very  much  pleased  with  him.  As  he 
opened  the  door,  he  had  somewhat  of  the  (com- 
manding) air  of  father,  only  a  little  more  so,  but 
he  instantly  became  smiling  and  genial,  and  the 
apparent  "Whom  have  we  here  now.^"  changed 
into  an  apparent  "Well,  this  is  just  the  right  thing 
at  the  right  time,"  as  I  named  my  name.  He  is 
living  in  the  first  house  built  in  East  Boston,  a 
worn-out-looking  wooden  house,  but  with  quite  a 
liberal  garden  in  which  with  his  garden  clothes  he, 
in  his  eightieth  year,  had  just  been  working.  You 
would  have  enjoyed  seeing  him  point  out  his 
blooming  snowdrops  and  pansies  there.  He  has 
lived  there  ever  since  1833,  having  built  this  house. 
His  wife  died  ten  years  since,  and  his  only  son  died 
when  seventeen  years  old.  He  has  a  brother  living 
near  Haverhill,  Massachusetts.  His  wife's  sister, 
a  Mrs.  Kilbourn,  who  has  just  lost  two  sons  in  the 
war,  lives  with  him. 

He  speaks  very  fluently  and  correctly,  and  his 
mind  seems  alert.  He  is  quite  a  good-looking  man. 
[  172  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

He  showed  me  the  cane  which  Thomas  Haynes,  his 
grandfather,  received  In  1698  from  the  Indians  for 
his  good  behavior  among  them  when  In  captivity. 
His  father,  Jonathan,  was  killed  by  the  Indians 
that  year  1698.   The  cane  Is  curiously  carved. 

Altogether,  the  visit  was  very  pleasant,  and  I 
felt  as  If  I  should  like  to  have  you  see  him  some 
time.  His  oldest  brother  (half  brother)  was  fifty- 
one  years  older  than  he. 

After  the  death  of  President  Lincoln,  Mr.  White 
wrote  to  his  mother  as  follows :  — 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 

April  17,  1865.    Monday. 

My  dear  Mother:  — 

.  .  .  Since  I  wrote  you  how  much  we  have  lived 
through!  These  glorious  victories,  succeeded  by  the 
deep  national  sorrow,  have  kept  our  hearts  In  alter- 
nate tumult  of  exultation  and  agony.  Saturday 
was  one  of  the  darkest  days  in  my  life,  and  I  doubt 
not  you  can  say  In  yours. 

"They've  lost  the  best  friend  they  had,"  says 
one  man,  referring  to  the  rebels. 

"Lord  love  you,"  says  a  parishioner  of  mine 
who  has  lost  excellent  children,  "I've  seen  trouble, 
but  nothing  ever  came  to  me  so  cutting  as  this." 
[  173  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

And  this  he  says  forty-eight  hours  after  hearing 
the  news,  and  with  weeping  eyes. 

Our  bells  tolled.  Then  as  I  went  (twenty  miles) 
to  Warwick,  the  Winchester  bells  twelve  miles  off 
were  tolling. 

"We're  all  mourners,"  I  said  to  a  man  at  work 
in  his  yard. 

"Yes,   yes,"    he    replied   in   a   most   pathetic 
tone. 

At  Warwick  I  broke  off  from  my  sermon,  and 
spoke  of  the  event,  and  had  the  comfort  to  hear 
a  lady  tell  me,  "You  have  filled  our  hearts." 

During  the  first  hymn,  — 

"God  is  the  refuge  of  his  saints, 
When  storms  of  sharp  distress  invade,"  — 

a  "veteran"  (soldier)  broke  into  sobs  and  was  in 
tears,  I  was  told,  all  through  the  service.  ^ 

More  tears  were  shed  that  day,  I  believe,  than 
were  ever  shed  on  this  planet,  in  any  one  day 
before.  But  how  like  a  rocket  at  the  zenith  of  his 
fame  he  has  gone  up! 

As  I  was  writing  to  Emily,  he  is  my  favorite  of 
all  our  American  statesmen,  not  excepting  Wash- 
ington, for  I  think  his  humor  and  his  plain  talk  are 
elements  in  him  which  our  more  statuesque  Wash- 
[  174  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

ington  was  not  the  better  for  not  possessing.  His 
style  was  inimitable.  .  .  . 

Our  door  is  arched  with  black.  The  churches 
were  dressed  in  black  yesterday.  It  was  quite 
affecting  to  me  yesterday,  on  my  return,  when  I 
saw  a  wee  bit  of  a  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Win- 
chester in  mourning,  and  then  discerned  another 
in  similar  grief,  an  eighth  of  a  mile  off". 

We  shall  have  a  funeral  service  at  twelve 
Wednesday  in  our  church,  the  time  of  the  Wash- 
ington funeral. 

Little  Eliza  said  in  sobs  to  her  mother  on  Satur- 
day, "O,  mamma,  mamma!  What  will  the  poor 
slaves  do.^    Who  will  take  care  of  the  poor  slaves 


now 


?" 


My  feeling  was,  "Who  will  pity  the  authors  of 
rebellion  now.^"' 

May  4,  1865. 
My  dear  Mother:  — 

Your  welcome  letter  came  duly,  but  found  me 
busy  once  more  with  preparation  for  extra  services 
on  occasion  of  our  good  President's  funeral. 

What  an  April  it  has  been!  How  crowded  with 
events!  .  .  . 

Our  five  Protestant  churches  were  all  filled  on 
the  funeral  occasion.  I  spoke  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
[  175  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

minutes  before  offering  prayer,  preferring,  for  the 
occasion,  so  doing  to  having  any  "cut-and-drled" 
remarks.  ;  . 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  June  3,  1865. 
My  dear  Mother:  — 

The  day  was  very  fine  at  Concord,  and  as  an 
Invited  guest  I  could  ride,  and  thus  better  enjoy 
the  long  procession,  bands  of  music,  the  taste- 
fully draped  houses,  etc.  The  torn  and  blackened 
battle-flags  most  Interested  me,  revealing  the  dan- 
gers to  which  the  country  had  been  exposed  more 
than  aught  else  that  I  had  seen.  I  met  several 
returned  soldiers,  one  cripple  from  Atkinson,  New 
Hampshire,  to  whom  a  comrade,  as  he  met  him, 
said,  "Why,  we  buried  you!"  And  upon  parting 
from  him  added,  "Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  the  dead, 
brought  to  life."  .  .  . 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  June  29,  1865. 
I  had  last  Sunday  the  refreshment  of  an  ex- 
change at  FltzwIUIam.  My  drive  was  in  great 
contrast  to  that  when  I  last  exchanged  there,  on 
January  15.  Then  the  trees  were  glittering  with 
Ice  and  numbers  of  the  slender  birches  crowded 
[  176  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

with  icicles  had  been  cut  down,  so  entirely  by  their 
icy  prostration  had  they  encumbered  the  road. 
Now  the  air  was  genial,  the  streams  sparkling  and 
the  green  leaves  glancing  in  the  sun.  Yet  the 
beauty  of  the  January  ride  with  its  forest  of  dia- 
monds has  left  a  more  permanent  impression. 

At  Troy  I  took  tea  with  a  sort  of  Nature's  noble- 
man, one  Thomas  Goodall,  an  Englishman  by 
birth  with  but  forty-eight  cents  in  his  pocket  at 
twenty-one  and  ragged  too;  now  proprietor  of  two 
factories  and  very  generous  in  his  treatment  of  his 
operatives,  and  a  real  blessing  to  the  little  town  of 
Troy.  From  ^1500  to  $1800  a  month  goes  into 
families  there  who  at  home  attend  to  part  of  his 
horse-blanket  manufacture.  A  Boston  firm  told 
him  he  could  save  $1000  a  year  by  letting  the  work 
be  done  there  in  B.  by  sewing-machine.  People  like 
the  sewing-machine  work  better,  Mr.  G.  says.  Still 
he  told  them  that  he  preferred  not  to  take  the  work 
away  from  the  poor  families  in  Troy. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  July  23,  1865. 

The   telescope   does   well   for   things   that   are 

earthy.      I  have  not  yet  turned  it  towards  the 

heavens.  I  fear  it  will  not  show  me  women  at  their 

kneading  troughs  in  Venus,  or  men  making  a  cavalry 

[  177  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

raid  in  Mars.  In  that  case  we  have  only  to  draw 
upon  the  imagination  (which  ought  to  be  as  good  as 
anybody's,  or  which,  if  not,  cannot,  unhappily,  be 

swapped  off  for  another,  as  the  telescope  can  be) 

Had  the  preliminary  address  been  briefer,  and 
Mr.  A.  and  others  also  been  mindful  that  long 
speeches  will  not  really  make  life  longer,  but  only 
the  more  tedious,  there  would  have  been  nothing 
wanting  to  the  complete  success  of  "Commemora- 
tion Day"  save  a  despotic  lowering  of  the  ther- 
mometer by  about  ten  degrees.  Yet,  even  with 
these  excesses  on  the  part  of  the  mercury  and  of 
those  who  spoke  for  Mars,  the  day  was  an  uncom- 
monly gratifying  one,  and  in  the  memory  will  soon 
seem  perfect.  It  was  a  sad  pleasure,  from  the  din- 
ner seats,  to  look  up  to  the  roll  of  names  from  time 
to  time,  and  read  — 


i8S3 

I8S7 

Dwight 

Dwight 

and 

Perkins 
Whittemore 

It  seemed  to  be  giving  visible  assurance  that  the 
names  of  our  two  nephews  would  survive  hundreds 
of  years  longer  than  had  they  quietly  died  at  home. 
The  living  soldiers  who  were  there  might  almost 
have  envied  the  fame  of  the  dead. 
I  178] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

In  the  library  their  photographs  were  all  to  be 
seen  under  a  glass  case,  framed,  over  the  table. 
Mr.  Sargent's  son  looked  like  an  everyday  acquaint- 
ance among  them.  My  old  friend,  Manning  F. 
Force,  was  in  Cambridge  on  a  furlough,  now  a 
Major-General.  He  made  a  good  speech  at  the 
table.  He  bears  a  scar  where  a  ball  entered  a 
little  below  the  eye.  The  most  interesting  point 
of  the  dinner  to  me,  even  excepting  the  recep- 
tion of  General  Meade,  was  the  allusion  of  Mr. 
Loring  to  Brigadier-General  Bartlett  and  his  re- 
ception by  the  students  and  graduates  and  his 
attempt  to  respond.  He  is  a  slender,  thoughtful 
stripling,  only  a  three  years'  graduate,  seeming 
like  the  Sir  J.  Richardson,  of  the  North  Pole 
Expedition,  of  whom  the  natives  said  that  he  would 
never  kill  a  mosquito  (evidently  more  tolerant  in 
that  regard  than  little  Nellie  Williamson).  Mr. 
Loring  called  him  up  by  saying  that  in  a  picture 
gallery  in  France  (Bartlett's  arm  is  shivered  and 
one  leg  is  gone)  there  is  the  likeness  of  an  officer 
who  holds  the  bridle  of  his  horse  by  a  hook,  in  the 
absence  of  an  arm,  and  who  is  laced  against  the 
saddle,  for  want  of  a  leg,  but  underneath  is  the 
inscription,  "But  the  heart  is  still  there."  He  then 
added  (as  a  toast),  "General  Bartlett,  —  the  heart 
[  179  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

is  still  there."  The  applause  was  overpowering. 
As  they  insisted  on  his  rising  and  moving  towards 
the  platform,  he  began  to  do  so,  and  looked  much 
as  L.  might  had  she  been  so  caught.  He  had  uttered 
a  few  words  of  attempted  acknowledgment,  when 
Colonel  Lee,  the  marshal,  relieved  him,  as  there  was 
a  slight  pause,  by  saying,  "As  was  said  to  General 
Washington,  'Sit  down,'  General  Bartlett,  'your 
modesty  is  equal  to  your  valor.'"  So  it  was,  alto- 
gether, the  most  touching  episode  of  the  day. 

The  bells  chimed  in  the  forenoon.  I  thought  I 
recognized  a  strain  in  "Cephas."  Dr.  Putnam's 
oration  was  all  the  better  to  me  for  not  being  far- 
fetched and  paradoxical  as  he  is  apt  to  be,  and  as 
some  people  crave,  just  as  they'd  upset  their 
cayenne  bottle  on  their  beefsteak  were  it  not  for 
the  looks.  To  me  the  address  was  simple  and  ear- 
nest and  natural.  It  said  the  right  thing.  I  did 
not  go  there  longing  to  be  startled. 

From  M.  E.  W.  to  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  December  23,  1865. 
My  dear  Mother:  — 

.  .  .  We  certainly  have  everything  life  can  give 
to  be  grateful  for,  and  chief  of  all  our  blessings  is 
our  present  good  health.  I  am  not  strong,  but  I  am 
f  180  1 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

very  well,  and  do  enjoy,  to  the  utmost,  being  able 
to  go  about  my  house  freely,  and  attending  to  my 
family  cares.  I  am  able  to  do  a  little,  too,  outside 
of  my  own  family,  and  am  quite  interested  in  a 
sewing-school  we  have  started,  for  seven  or  eight 
girls  in  our  own  parish,  who  are  sadly  neglected  at 
home,  and  whom  we  hope  to  benefit,  by  personal 
intercourse  and  instruction.  William  has  been 
very  much  occupied  with  organizing  a  Freedmen's 
Association  here.  He  has  succeeded  in  his  object, 
and  they  have  raised  ^500  for  the  support  of  a 
teacher  in  the  field. 

W.  O.  W.  TO  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  January  5,  1866. 
.  .  .  Our  Christmas  Eve  service  this  year  shone 
so  much  better  than  ever  in  consequence  of  gas 
that  I  had  our  last  Sunday's  afternoon  service  also 
in  the  evening.  There  were  more  than  twice  our 
usual  hundred  or  so  of  afternoon  hearers.  Every- 
body seems  so  favorably  disposed  towards  the 
experiment  that  we  are  going  to  have  no  afternoon 
service,  but  an  evening  one  at  6.30  Instead.  We 
think  that  In  a  village  of  our  size  some  roving 
youths  will  come  in  and  be  better  employed  than 
they  might  be  elsewhere.  .  .  . 
[  181  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

The  change  was  successful,  for  in  April  he  writes: 
"Preached  all  day  yesterday.  Was  gratified  to 
find  some  one  hundred  and  eighty  at  our  evening 
service,  which  seems  thus  far  much  more  than  to 
replace  our  abandoned  afternoon  service.  We  don't 
call  it  *  names,'  however,  'vespers,'  or  anything 
else.   The  service  is  just  like  a  common  one." 

The  following  letter,  written  by  Mr.  White  after 
the  death  of  his  father-in-law,  shows  the  warm  place 
he  held  in  his  affections:  — 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  jipril  g,  1866. 
My  dear  Mother:  — 

It  seemed  long  to  wait,  from  the  Monday  morn- 
ing when  news  first  came  of  our  Father  Harding's 
death,  till  Thursday  evening  before  I  could  see  my 
dear  wife.  At  two,  Thursday,  after  my  "Fast" 
service  (I  hope  Dr.  Ingersoll  could  look  down  and 
see  how  much  I  missed  him),  I  took  the  cars  for 
Springfield.  .  .  . 

That  dear  familiar  church  received  a  new  and 
precious  association,  as  we  took  leave  there  of  the 
face  that  had  always  shone  on  us  with  so  loving  a 
greeting. 

The  picture  of  General  Sherman   (taten  this 
[  182  ] 


THE  CIVIL  WAR 

winter  at  St.  Louis)  is  truly  a  most  spirited  paint- 
ing. His  wife  said  that  she  was  "glad  that  there 
was  so  fine  a  likeness  of  her  husband  in  existence.'* 
Our  little  girl  (as  I  believe  I  wrote  you),  saw  her 
grandfather,  a  few  weeks  since,  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  this  portrait. 

In  his  outdoor  life,  he  was  also  himself  to  the 
last.  Passing  up  street  (the  27th  March,  Tuesday 
before  the  Sunday  of  his  death)  to  the  cars,  he 
shook  his  rod  playfully,  as  he  walked,  at  a  friend 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  saying,  "I  never 
felt  more  like  it  in  my  life."  .  .  . 

Pneumonia  was  regarded  as  his  disease.  He  was 
•conscious,  seemingly,  almost  to  the  last. 

The  anniversary  comes  very  close  upon  that  of 
my  own  father's  death.  It  is  a  comfort  to  think 
that  both  died  in  full  mental  strength.  I  have  felt 
bitterly  grieved  by  this  event,  more  so  than  I  could 
have  believed,  as  we  saw  our  Father  H.  so  com- 
paratively seldom,  but  he  was  a  delightful  com- 
panion and  we  were  so  sure  of  his  love. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LETTERS   TO   A   CHILD 

I 860- I 866 

No  picture  of  my  father  would  be  complete  with- 
out giving  some  account  of  his  sympathy  with 
children.  His  pleasures  were  their  pleasures,  and 
they  were  never  made  to  feel  that  they  were 
any  interruption  in  his  out-of-door  work.  One 
of  the  qualities  that  endeared  him  most  to  his 
children  was  his  habit  of  closing  his  eyes  to  their 
faults. 

It  seemed  to  be  his  greatest  pleasure  to  take 
them,  and  the  other  little  girls  who  were  their 
companions,  coasting  on  the  big  black  sled.  How 
well  I  remember  the  crisp  freshness  of  those  winter 
mornings  !  —  the  swift  flight  of  the  sled  down  the 
hill  and  across  the  icy  pond  at  the  bottom!  We 
younger  ones  enjoyed  it  with  little  thought  of 
the  beauty  of  our  surroundings,  but  in  going  over 
his  letters,  I  can  see  how  there  was  for  him  a  touch 
of  poetry  in  the  scene. 

One  of  his  especial  charms  was  his  gift  for  story- 
telling. His  tales  were  simple  and  realistic,  but 
told  with  a  vividness  of  detail  and  description 
[  1S4  1 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

which  endeared  them  to  the  heart  of  a  child.  A 
certain  Polly  Gray  and  her  friend,  Nancy  Pike, 
one  of  whom  lived  on  a  farm,  had  a  series  of  mild 
adventures  which  were  made  thrilling  by  the  way 
in  which  they  were  told.  There  was  also  an  imagin- 
ary visitor  who  sometimes  came  to  our  house  by 
the  name  of  Patty  Tompkins.  She  was  an  early 
exponent  of  the  theory  of  dual  personality,  for  she 
entered  into  us  at  times.  She  was  a  most  unpleasant 
person,  being  cross,  irritable,  and  fault-finding  or 
very  wilful  and  determined.  My  father,  feeling 
that  we  ourselves  could  do  no  wrong,  knew  that  it 
must  be  Patty  Tompkins  who  had  taken  possession 
of  us,  if  things  did  not  go  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 

The  animals  on  the  place  were  another  of  our 
great  Interests.  There  were  the  pigeons,  who  were 
so  tame  that  they  would  fly  in  at  the  open  window 
and  take  corn  out  of  my  mother's  hand;  the  num- 
erous broods  of  young  chickens,  and  always  the 
joy  of  a  mother  cat  and  her  young  families;  but 
never  a  dog.  My  father  had  a  constitutional  dis- 
like to  them. 

These  letters,  which  may  seem  to  some  a  trivial 
interruption  in  a  serious  sketch,  will  give  to  others, 
as  no  words  of  mine  can,  a  picture  of  what  my 
father  was  in  daily  life  in  those  early  years:  — 
[  i8S  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

To  A  Four-year-old 

Salem,  November  29,  i860. 

My  dear  little  Eliza:  — 

Papa  thanks  you  for  your  sweet  little  note.  The 
"little  Bonds"  are  pretty  big  Bonds  now.  They 
did  n't  get  any  story  from  me  about  Polly  Gray. 
It  is  n't  every  little  child  that  coaxes  a  story  out  of 
your  papa,  I  can  tell  you. 

O!  such  lots  of  turkeys  as  I  saw  in  Boston  yester- 
day, and  in  the  Salem  market  yesterday.  Grandma 
and  Grandpa  gave  turkeys  and  raisins  and  flour 
to  poor  folks  who  called  yesterday.  One  little  girl 
came  for  something  for  her  mamma.  The  mamma 
was  a  hundred  years  old  all  but  two  years,  so  that 
the  little  girl  herself  was  just  the  age  of  your 
Grandma  (76).  Don't  you  want  to  know  if  I  have 
bought  Sally  a  new  head,  and  if  I  have  bought  a 
pair  of  kid  arms.''  Catch  me  telling!  Good-bye, 
my  darling  little  daughter;  give  a  kiss  to  Mamma 
for  me,  and  one  to  Minnie,  and  believe  me 
Your  loving  father, 

William  O.  White. 

Here  is  a  kiss  for  your  own  wee  self. 


O 


I  186 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 

Friday,  November  20,  1863. 

My  dear  little  Daughter:  — 

We  had  a  funny  time,  Mr.  Hamilton  and  I,  going 
to  Hanover. 

I  left  my  rubbers,  when  we  changed  cars  at  Bel- 
lows Falls.  That  night  (Tuesday  night)  we  walked 
a  long  ways  over  a  railroad  bridge  from  White 
River  Junction  to  West  Lebanon.  There  we  got 
into  a  big  wagon,  drawn  by  two  horses,  to  go  to 
Hanover,  four  miles  off.  O!  how  the  mud  did  spat- 
ter, spatter,  spatter!!  It  looked  just  like  snow  fly- 
ing, by  the  light  of  the  lantern  on  the  big  wagon. 

After  dinner  at  the  tavern  the  next  day,  I  looked 
for  the  new  umbrella  that  I  bought  last  week  in 
Boston,  and  some  thief  had  stolen  it  from  under 
the  table  in  the  entry.  It  did  not  rain  at  the  time. 
A  man  told  me  that  it  had  been  "gobbled  up." 
"Pray,  what  is  that?"  said  Papa.  "Why,  the  stu- 
dents go  round  and  steal  umbrellas,  and  call  it  gob- 
bling them  up;  one  student  had  thirteen  of  them 
in  his  room  last  vacation  that  he  had  gobbled  up." 
The  night  before,  at  a  party  at  Professor  Noyes's, 
some  one  went  to  the  door,  and  gobbled  up  all  the 
umbrellas,  he  said. 

After  buying  me  another  umbrella,  I  walked 
[  187  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

with  Mr.  Hamilton,  to  a  big  party  (called  a  levee) 
at  the  College  Library  building.  My  umbrella  I 
hid  under  my  greatcoat,  wearing  it  somewhat  as  a 
soldier  would  carry  his  sword.  I  also  kept  my  hat 
in  my  hand.  Not  so  with  Jennie  Hamilton's  father. 
He  left  his  five-dollar  hat  downstairs  in  the  room 
they  told  him  to.  Alas,  alas,  alas!  it  was  gobbled 
up,  all  gobbled  up!!  Nothing  was  left  of  it  but 
a  dirty  old  white  hat  which  Mr.  Hamilton  flung 
down,  as  if  it  had  been  an  old  dish-cloth. 

However,  he  was  at  last  persuaded  to  wear  the 
dirty  old  thing  a  little  while,  until  he  could  buy 
another,  down  street. 

This  put  Mrs.  Brown,  where  Dr.  Barstow 
boarded  (and  where  he  asked  us  to  take  tea)  in 
mind  of  how  her  husband  once,  after  a  great  levee 
at  the  President's  in  Washington,  some  years 
ago,  wanted  his  hat  to  go  home  with.  The 
black  servant  at  the  door  brought  him  a  very 
shabby  hat.  He  sent  him  for  another.  Then  the 
negro  brought  him  a  very,  very  shabby  hat.  *'  Stop, 
this  is  not  the  one,"  quoth  he.  Then  the  negro 
brought  him  a  very^  very,  very  shabby  hat.  "Why," 
said  Mr.  Brown,  "mine  is  a  good  hat."  "Law, 
Massa,"  said  the  negro,  "all  de  good  hats  been 
gone  dis  two  hour!!" 

f  i88  1 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

Good-bye,  darling.  Kiss  Mamma  for  me,  give 
my  love  to  Cousin  Henry  and  to  Cousin  Fanny  and 
believe  me,  always  your  loving  Father, 

William  O.  White. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  July  23,  1865. 
.  .  .  All  that  the  dear  daughter  seems  to  need  to 
make  her  supremely  happy  there  is  a  flesh  and 
blood  little  girl  of  about  her  age.  But  with  older 
people  to  be  her  companions,  and  with  the  kittens, 
and  swallows  and  chickens,  and  red-winged  black- 
birds and  the  sparrows'  nests,  and  the  ducks  and 
pigeons  at  the  neighboring  house,  and  the  blue  sea, 
and  her  books  and  dolls,  I  think  she  will  not  need 
a  great  many  handkerchiefs  with  which  to  wipe 
away  her  tears.  If  she  does,  let  her  send  to  me  and 
I  will  buy  her  an  extra  dozen.  Ask  her  if  the  tears 
will  not  be  Salter  for  being  formed  down  in  that 
salt  air. 

Keene,  April  10,  1866. 

Dear  Eliza:  — 

Mr.  Billings  brought  in  one  of  the  seven  chick- 
ens Sunday  morning  (a  black  one)  which  he  had 
rescued  from  a  vile  cur. 

The  little  lame  chicken  got  better.  But,  0,  that 
[  189  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

afternoon,  Kitty  beheld  the  vile  cur  making  off 
very  rapidly  with  two  more  of  the  seven  chick- 
ens. They  have  never  been  seen  or  heard  of,  but 
the  vile  cur  has  been  seen,  but  never  will  be  seen 
again, 

Mr.  Billings  went  to  the  owner  and  bought  him 
for  two  dollars,  Mr.  Billings  killed  the  vile  cur; 
Mr.  Billings  buried  the  vile  cur,  we  all  breathe 
freer,  especially  the  mother  of  the  chickens;  and  I 
am,  in  a  great  hurry,  your  afF.  father. 

Will.  O.  White. 

Nellie  B.  got  your  last  letter  and  was  glad. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  April  14,  1866, 
My  dearest  Daughter:  — 

I  am  very  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  tell  you  what 
will  make  you  feel  a  little  sad.  You  must  not 
allow  it,  however,  to  trouble  you  more  than  a 
minute  or  two.  One  of  our  little  family  here  has 
bitterly  deceived  us.  It  is  not  Kitty;  it  is  not 
Julia.  Who  then?  Alas,  it  is,  it  is,  it  is,  —  can  it 
be,  —  yes,  it  is,  it  is,  I  lament  to  say  it,  but  it  is, 
—  too  true,  —  too  true  —  it  is 

Pussy  ! 
Ah!  the  lamentable  discovery! 

Fred  Thompson  the  Discoverer. 
[  190  ] 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

Fred  looked  Into  the  kitten  barrel  yesterday. 
Fred  saw  three  fat  kittens.  Fred  saw  one  fat  cat. 
But  Fred  saw  what  did  not  belong  there.  He  saw 
two  wings,  and  they  were  wings  of  different  colors, 
and  they  did  not  look  like  birds'  wings.  Your 
father  was  called  in  "on  consultation."  He  pro- 
nounced the  wings  to  be  chickens'  wings.  Was 
Papa  enraged.''  Did  he  order  that  Pussy  should 
share  the  fate  of  "the  vile  cur".-*  No,  Papa  was 
grieved.  He  was  disappointed.  He  remembered, 
also,  that  Pussy  was  your  cat.  Kitty  turned  pale 
with  surprise  and  vexation  and  sorrow,  —  Catha- 
rine Elliot,  I  mean. 

Pussy  by  this  time  had  removed  her  family  from 
the  barrel.  She  fled  to  the  woods,  —  the  cellar 
woods,  I  mean.  No  sooner  had  Fred  noticed  the 
barrel-wings  than  Pussy's  conscience  troubled  her, 
and  her  guilty  feelings  drove  her  into  solitude. 
I  Learning  this  morning  that  in  all  probability 
she  and  her  voracious  brats  have  devoured  four  of 
the  remaining  five  early  chickens  that  were  rescued 
from  "the  vile  cur,"  we  have  shut  Pussy  up  in  the 
rockaway  house  in  our  barn.  When  her  kittens  are 
hungry  enough  to  creep  out  of  their  lurking-place, 
they  shall  join  her.  As  you  and  your  mother  had 
not  quite  decided  which  kitten  shall  be  killed,  I 
[  191  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE  ' 

shall  decide  for  you,  and  have  the  buff  one  killed. 
It  ought  to  have  been  done  long  ago.  Then,  either 
I  shall  dispose  of  all  my  chickens,  —  every  one,  — 
by  selling  them,  or  giving  them  away,  or  I  shall  try 
and  get  the  cat  boarded  for  the  next  few  months  at 
Miss  Mary  Nourse's.  As  she  has  been  so  good  a 
cat,  I  do  not  want  to  have  her  killed  until  we  have 
tried  to  get  her  boarded.  Perhaps  if  we  dispose  of 
all  her  kittens,  we  may  raise  the  chickens,  after 
they  are  in  the  yard.  The  cat  and  kittens  ought  to 
have  been  kept  in  the  shed,  while  the  hens  were  In 
the  cellar.  We  can  all  see  that  now.  But  who  could 
have  suspected  Pussy.''  The  temptation  was  too 
strong  for  her.  She  was  more  of  a  cat  than  she 
was  of  a  saint,  after  all.  You  and  your  mother 
can  be  thinking  over  whether  you  had  rather 
have  no  chickens  and  keep  the  cat  and  two  kit- 
tens all  the  time  at  home,  or  have  the  cat  at  Miss 
Nourse's  a  little  while  this  summer;  and  keep  the 
chickens. 

I  thought  how  much  worse  I  should  have  felt 
had  It  been  my  child,  rather  than  my  child's  cat 
that  had  In  any  way  deceived  me. 

Your  affec.  father, 

W.  O.  White. 

1  192  1 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

Keene,  Sunday  night,  April  15,  1866. 

Dear  little  Eliza:  — 

This  is  the  next  chapter  in  the  drama  of  the  kit- 
ten and  chicken  families  of  1866. 

It  proved,  last  evening,  that  Pussy  had  put  into 
the  stomachs  of  herself  "and  children  three,"  some 
dozen  chickens,  in  all.  Just  after  this  terrific  an- 
nouncement, falling  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  our 
quiet  household  (although  we  are  still  blessed  with 
twenty-five  living  chickens,  and  with  the  prospect 
of  a  new  brood  next  Friday,  and  still  another 
brood  a  fortnight  from  next  Saturday;  and  with 
two  or  three  more  hens  that  cluck  so  that  they 
seem  to  say,  "Give  me  a  chance,  give  me  a  chance, 
I  '11  risk  the  cats,  I  '11  risk  the  dogs,  I  '11  risk  the  rain, 
I'll  risk  the  sk — s;  do  give  me  a  chance  to  hatch 
my  eggs";)  just  after  the  terrific  announcement  on 
page  first,  Mr.  George  Nourse  drove  up  with  butter. 
He  agreed  to  board  Pussy  and  her  two  surviving 
brats,  —  the  buff  and  white,  and  the  grey.  So,  a 
basket  was  found;  pussy  and  the  two  kittens  were 
deposited  therein  and  a  cloth  tied  over  the  top  of 
the  basket. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Nourse:  good-bye.  Pussy." 

The  sound  of  the  wagon-wheels  dies   away  in 
the  distance.    Morning  comes. 
[  193  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

"Well,  Kitty,  how  does  the  house  seem  without 
a  cat?" 

"Indeed,  Sir,  but  Pussy  has  come  hack,  and 
came  up  from  the  cellar  this  morning!" 

"With  her  kittens?" 

"No,  I  put  her  in  the  rockaway  house  again. 
I  guess  she  did  n't  go  all  the  way  to  Mr.  Nourse's, 
she  came  back  so  soon." 

So  mother  and  children  are  separated  for  a  while. 
I  shall  try  to  get  Pussy  carried  to  her  brats  at  Mr. 
Nourse's,  if  they  are  there,  before  many  days. 

Meantime  you  will  agree  with  me  that  this  adds 
one  more  strange,  exciting,  peculiar,  wonderful, 
curious,  odd,  unexpected  chapter  to  the  romantic 
history  of  the  pets  of  the  White  family  In  Keene  for 
the  year  1866.  In  the  midst  of  these  raids  by  the 
four  footed  beasts  upon  our  poultry,  I  am  happy 
to  be  able  to  say  that  our  baby  pigeon  is  in  "fine 
feather,"  safe  in  his  lofty  nook,  from 

Paw  of  cat  or  dog 

Or  rude  and  grunting  hog.  .  .  . 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  April  19,  1866. 
Dear  Eliza:  — 

Such  a  chase  as  Kitty  and  I  have  been  having 
for  the  chickens!  With  the  thermometer  at  70  de- 
[  194  ] 


LETTERS  TO  A  CHILD 

grees,  we  thought  that  they  surely  could  endure 
coming  up  from  the  damp  cellar.  But  how  the 
black  scamps  and  the  brown  scamps  and  the  grey 
scamps,  and  the  scamp  of  all  sorts  of  colors,  jumped 
behind  pots,  and  kettles,  and  baskets,  and  boards, 
and  woodboxes,  and  woodpiles,  and  refrigerators, 
and  chimneys,  and  coal  hods,  and  cellar-doors;  — 
it  would  require  a  livelier  pen  than  mine  to 
describe.  'H 

'  We  have  now  put  the  remnants  of  the  first  three 
broods  under  one  hen.  She  has  the  lame  black  one, 
sole  survivor  of  the  brood  of  seven,  and  she  has  ten 
others.  Imagine  her  in  her  coop  under  the  china- 
closet  window,  with  her  brood  of  eleven.  The 
potato-cellar  hen  you  may  see,  in  your  mind's  eye, 
under  the  kitchen  window  with  a  brood  of  thirteen. 

"Only  twenty-four!"  you  will  say.  Suffer  me  to 
correct  you  a  little.  Another  black  mother  is 
hatching  her  chickens  to-day.  She  has  five  already 
and  I  think  may  have  three,  four  or  five  more  by 
to-morrow. 

Perhaps  we  shall  put  her  where  your  bantam 
used  to  be,  behind  the  cellar-door,  close  by  your 
play-room. 

In  a  fortnight  another  hen  will  probably  hatch 
her  chickens. 

[  195  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Your  pigeon  is  as  white  as  snow,  and  by  another 
week  will  very  likely  be  showing  himself  on  his 
front-door  step,  to  the  little  girl  to  whom  he 
belongs. 

The  expedition  to  Mr.  Nourse's  was  safely  made 
by  Julia  and  Kitty  on  Monday  afternoon.  You 
have  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  "A  cat  in  a  bag." 
Such  was  the  situation  of  your  own  puss  during 
the  journey  performed  by  J.  and  K.  to  Mr.  Nourse's. 

One  of  her  children  crept  up  to  Pussy  with  every 
mark  of  filial  aflfection.  Yet  I  am  informed  that 
*'  at  first"  their  mother  "  did  not  seem  to  care  much 
for  them."  But  I  should  have  been  sorry  to  have 
had  her  love  them  so  well  as  she  did  the  chickens. 
It  was  better  that  she  did  not  "love  them  enough 
to  eat  them." 

The  cat  has  not  been  here  since,  so  we  conclude 
that  her  home  for  the  present,  at  Mrs.  Nourse's, 
suits  her. 

The  old  Dorking  began  to  sit  yesterday.  She 
has  eighteen  eggs.  It's  the  same  hen,  which,  two 
years  ago,  sat  on  eighteen  eggs,  hatched  nineteen, 
and  brought  up  twenty  chickens! 


CHAPTER  X 

LATER  YEARS    IN   KEENE 

I 866-1 876 

These  later  years  in  Keene  from  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War  to  1876  were  filled  with  many  activities 
for  the  minister  and  his  wife.  If  there  was  no  longer 
the  zest  of  novelty  with  which  they  began  the  long 
pastorate  in  1851,  they  had  formed  ties  which  time 
had  only  strengthened,  and  middle-age  had  not 
taken  away  any  of  their  enthusiasm.  Besides  the 
parish  cares  there  were  many  outside  interests 
which  are  alluded  to  in  the  following  letters.  A 
minor  one,  which  gave  my  father  great  pleasure, 
was  his  correspondence  with  Dr.  James  Martineau, 
who  consulted  him  in  regard  to  the  authorship  of 
some  American  hymns. 

No  sketch  of  my  father's  life  in  Keene  would  be 
complete  without  some  account  of  his  relations 
with  his  brother  ministers.  In  those  days,  when 
Unitarians  were  so  often  considered  heretics,  it  is 
pleasant  to  see  how  he  won  his  way  and  made 
warm  friends  with  those  of  a  different  faith.  Chief 
among  them  was  Dr.  Barstow,  the  Orthodox  min- 
ister, old  enough  to  be  his  father,  a  dignified  figure, 
[  197] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

typical  of  the  former  times.  Between  these  men  of 
different  ages  and  widely  different  temperaments 
there  existed  the  most  cordial  and  friendly  rela- 
tions. There  was  also  Dr.  Renouf,  the  Episcopal 
clergyman,  a  contemporary  of  Mr.  White's,  and 
Mr.  Hamilton,  Dr.  Barstow's  assistant,  who  was 
for  a  time  our  next-door  neighbor.  He  and  my 
father  were  associated  in  their  lighter  hours  of 
relaxation,  once  taking  a  horseback  journey  to- 
gether. 

My  father  gives  a  vivid  account  of  the  Methodist 
Conference  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1866.  In  a  let- 
ter of  April  10  to  his  wife,  he  says:  "The  Metho- 
dist guests  have  not  come,  ours,  I  mean.  I  have 
virtually  provided  for  twenty-one  of  the  brethren." 
And  he  goes  on  to  tell  of  the  money  he  subscribed 
himself,  and  raised  from  other  people  for  their 
accommodation. 

April  13.  "I  will  now  tell  you  a  little  about  the 
Methodist  Conference  here.  I  was  introduced  by 
name  to  them.  Bishop  Simpson  stood  up  and  took 
me  by  the  hand;  they  all  bowed  and  what  could  I 
do  but  bow  too.^  The  next  second  Mr.  Clark,  the 
Baptist  minister,  was  introduced  in  like  manner. 
Each  minister  was  called  by  name  yesterday  morn- 
ing, and  the  presiding  elder  in  his  district  would 
[  198  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

reply,  'Nothing  against  Brother  Smith.'  There 
was  one  man,  however,  against  whom  they  did 
have  something.  The  presiding  elder  thought  his 
failure  —  pecuniarily  —  arose  from  his  being  'late' 
in  everything.  He  hoped  he  would  n't  be  too  late 
in  getting  into  the  Kingdom.  This  was  prefaced 
by  saying  that  it  took  him  six  weeks  to  travel 
some  fifty  miles,  and  as  many  to  return.  But  a 
committee  was  appointed  to  investigate  the  case." 
April  14.  "I  heard  yesterday  afternoon  some  of 
the  young  ministers  who  are  about  to  be  admitted 
to  the  Conference  give  their  'experience.'  One 
interested  me  more  than  the  rest.  He  had  never 
had  a  'praying  father  and  mother.'  When  his  un- 
cle, however,  came  to  see  them,  they  had  prayers 
and  he  felt  so  strangely  that  he  begged  another 
evening  that  he  might  go  to  bed  before  prayers. 
But  there  on  the  bed  the  prayer  smote  him  as  he 
overheard  his  uncle  pray  for  the  poor  'sick'  boy. 
('Ah,  I  was  not  sick,  only  sin-sick.')  That  very 
uncle,  an  aged  man,  was  sitting  in  the  pulpit  yes- 
terday, and  must  have  enjoyed  hearing  the  young 
man,  as  he  summed  up  his  feelings,  not  by  talk- 
ing about  reward  and  glory  in  heaven,  as  some 
of  them  did,  or  a  'rainbow  arch,'  but  by  saying 
with  much  emotion,  '  I  want  to  be  full  of  Christ. 
[  199  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

I  want  to  be  a  Jiving  epistle,  known  and  read  of  all 
men!' 

Almost  every  one  of  these  young  men  had  much 
to  say  of  the  influence  of  their  mothers  as  para- 
mount to  everything  else  they  had  enjoyed  in  the 
way  of  help  and  strength." 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Springfield,  Massachusetts, 
April  17,  1866. 

...  I  came  down  yesterday  after  an  interesting 
Methodist  week.  I  had  Professor  Harrington,  of 
Wesleyan  Seminary,  MIddletown,  Connecticut, 
(Professor  of  Latin,  but  a  clergyman),  for  my  guest, 
and  a  delightful  Christian,  genial  gentleman  I 
found  him. 

The  New  Hampshire  Methodist  Conference  met 
in  Keene,  on  occasion  of  its  annual  session. 

Bishop  Simpson  presided. 

I  enjoyed  becoming  acquainted  with  a  number 
of  the  brethren,  several  of  whom  dined  and  took 
tea  with  me. 

Mr.  Stubbs,  of  Nashua,  preached  for  me  in  the 
morning,  and  Mr.  (or  Dr.)  Barrows,  of  Sanbornton, 
in  the  evening. 

I  was  urged  to  hear  the  Bishop  at  the  Town  Hall 
[  200  1 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

in  the  forenoon,  and  did  so.  I  was  delighted  with 
his  simplicity,  devoutness,  and  unction.  It  was  a 
sermon  that  could  not  fail  to  do  good  to  the  im- 
mense audience. 

Previous  to  that  I  attended  their  "Love  Feast," 
and  deeply  enjoyed  the  snatches  of  hymns  which 
were  sung.  Then  hearing  my  friend  Professor 
Harrington  in  the  afternoon,  and  Dr.  Barrows  at 
my  own  church  in  the  evening,  and  a  half-hour's 
talk  after  that  in  the  Town  Hall,  I  found  I  had  had 
—  eight  solid  hours  of  meeting,  in  one  day,  more 
than  on  any  previous  Sunday  in  my  life;  more,  prob- 
ably, than  ever  again;  doubtless  more  than  ever  fell 
to  you  in  any  one  Sunday  of  your  long  life.  And  I 
survived  it  bravely. 

.  .  .  One  nice  old  Methodist  minister  said,  "I 
have  heard  of  you  from  a  Baptist  family  where 
I  stop,  and  from  some  of  the  Methodists,  and  I 
rejoice  that  my  Brother  Wagner  (our  late  Method- 
ist minister  in  Keene)  had  the  courtesy  and 
Christian  charity  to  exchange  with  you.  I  would, 
if  I  were  not  at  the  other  end  of  the  State." 

Ever,  dear  mother,  with  thanks  for  your  letter, 
I  am  yours  in  a  Springfield  store. 

Most  afi"ectionately. 

Will.  O.  W. 

[    201    ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

There  was  the  reverse  of  this  picture,  however, 
for  one  minister  in  town,  "the  young  Leach,"  re- 
ferred to  in  the  following  letters,  was  violently 
prejudiced  against  liberal  Christians,  remarking 
that  one  Unitarian  church  did  more  harm  in  a  town 
than  twenty  liquor  saloons.  This  led  to  Mr.  White's 
giving  a  series  of  sermons  on  Sunday  evenings  in 
which  he  expounded  the  doctrines  by  which  those 
of  his  own  faith  lived  and  died. 

May  9,  1866. 

My  last  Sunday  evening  doctrinal  sermon  was 
on  Human  Nature,  in  which  I  handled  Total  De- 
pravity. The  church  was  as  full  as  I  have  yet 
seen  it  (leaving  out  the  morning  Sunday-School 
children),  fuller  (than  in  the  morning)  of  grown 
folks.  Several  people  from  the  Societies  come 
statedly.  Meantime,  the  young  Orthodox  "  Leach  " 
advertises  us,  by  saying  he  knows  the  "Unitarians 
would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  half  the  Bible,"  etc. 

Four  persons  were  named  Sunday  for  our  July 
communion;  one  young  man  and  three  ladies.  This 
will  make  nine  men  (in  three  and  a  half  years)  and 
nine  women,  besides  two  men  and  women  by  letter. 
Some  of  these  are  grand  young  men,  who  take  hold 
well  of  our  charitable  subscriptions.  So  that  the 
1  202  1 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

parish,  as  a  working  body  (spite  of  our  sad  losses  by 
deatli  and  emigration),  in  fifteen  years,  seems  much 
more  desirable  than  when  I  came.  .  .  .  There  are 
some  ten  men  connected  with  the  Sunday-School 
Library  and  as  teachers.  .  .  . 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  May  4,  1866. 

The  spring  finds  our  parish  in  as  good  a  posi- 
tion, seemingly,  as  I  can  remember  it.  I  have  been 
here  a  year  and  a  month  longer  than  any  min- 
ister they  have  had.  Let  me  name  persons  who 
since  Fast  week  have  taken  seats.  .  .  .[He  goes  on 
to  name  seven  families  who  wanted  seats,  and  says :] 
It  is  very  hard  stowing  them  about,  and  we  really 
need  a  new  church. 

Our  evening  service  on  Sunday,  begun  at 
Christmas,  still  works  well.  We  had,  Sunday  be- 
fore last,  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  out  in  the 
evening;  usually,  a  hundred  less  than  that.  I  have 
been  asked  to  preach  some  doctrinal  sermons  in 
the  evening.  The  evening  when  our  attendance 
was  larger  than  usual,  I  preached  in  regard  to  the 
support  which  our  faith  gives  people  when  dying; 
with  numerous  illustrations,  such  as  Dr.  Channing 
and  others.  'T  was  in  consequence  of  a  young 
"Leach,"  who,  "supplying"  now  for  six  months, 
[  203  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

as  Dr.  Barstow's  coadjutor,  publicly  said  in  a  ser- 
mon that  "no  Unitarian  or  Universalist  —  did  he 
believe  —  ever  died  believing  in  those  views." 
When  they  appeared  to,  't  was  the  result  of  nar- 
cotics, or  they  recanted. 

Where  there  are  so  many  young  and  unthinking 
persons  'round,  it  is  well  enough  to  take  occasion 
to  refute  such  calumnies.  On  the  whole,  the  young 
"Leach"  referred  to  has  been  a  good  pudding- 
stick  in  the  community.  .  .  . 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Keene,  April  19,  1866. 

I  made  quite  a  long  call  on  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Kilburn.  Mr.  Kilburn  seemed  almost  intoxicated 
with  Keene;  they  both  seemed  perfectly  de- 
lighted, every  house,  however  small,  seemed  so 
neat  and  clean  in  its  surroundings.  He  had  trav- 
elled a  thousand  miles  to  look  for  a  home,  but  had 
seen  nothing  that  would  at  all  answer,  until  he 
came  to  Keene.  Mr.  Kilburn  was  delighted  to  hear 
some  old-fashioned  Unitarian  preaching  again. 

The  parish  had  increased  so  much  that  it  threat- 
ened to  outgrow  its  old  accommodations   and  in 
1868  my  father  was  occupied  in  putting  through  the 
project  of  building  a  new  church.    It  was  a  great 
I  204  1 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

happiness  to  him  to  see  this  wish  fulfilled.  He  was 
also  much  interested  in  raising  money  towards  the 
$100,000  fund  for  the  American  Unitarian  Associ- 
ation. 

Apropos  of  raising  money  in  Keene  to  build  a 
Methodist  church,  my  father  tells  this  story: 
"Another  brother  (minister)  commended  the  exam- 
ple of  a  young  man  in  another  town,  who,  to  secure 
a  new  church,  gave  twice  as  much  as  he  was  worth : 
giving  a  thousand  dollars  when  he'd  only  five  hun- 
dred in  the  world:  telling  them  that  if  he  should 
'backslide,'  he  wanted  it  fixed  so  the  church 
should  n't  lose.  Query,  whether  the  subscription 
was  not  a  bit  of  a  backslide,  five  hundred  dollars 
less  than  nothing.  But  at  forty-two  the  man  died, 
worth  just  forty- two  thousand  dollars.  The  Lord 
had  prospered  him.  Such  happens  to  the  man  who 
gives  twice  what  he's  worth,  it  seems,  an  early 
heaven  and  an  earthly  fortune." 

My  mother's  interests  in  Keene  were  almost  as 
varied  as  my  father's.  She  took  an  active  part  in 
the  Sewing  Circle,  and  during  her  later  years  there, 
she  had  a  Sunday-School  class  of  boys  to  whom  she 
read  once  a  week  at  her  own  house.  She  was  one 
of  the  founders  of  the  Invalids'  Home,  and  she 
I  205  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

started  the  Social  Union,  a  club  for  young  men 
who  met  in  the  evening  to  read  and  play  games. 

My  father  wrote  to  me  apropos  of  the  Social 
Union  [December  i6,  1873],  "Your  mother  has 
been  flying  about  'like one  possessed'  (with  a  lively 
idea)  this  last  week,  picking  up  money  right  and 
left,  filching  it  from  Temperance  men,  diving  down 
into  liquor  saloons  for  it,  —  and  all  to  open  a  room 
where  young  men  shall  have  a  place  that  they  can 
call  their  own,  to  read  or  to  chat  in.  She  has  prob- 
ably told  you  that  the  different  parishes  (or  mem- 
bers in  them)  cooperate  in  this  experiment." 

To  E.  O.  W. 

January  4,  1874. 

You  said  that  you  would  like  to  know  about  the 
Temperance  matters  here.  The  "Sentinel,"  which 
I  will  send,  will  tell  you  in  a  measure.  The  " notice" 
was  given  to  the  different  sellers  of  the  iniquity  on 
Monday  and  very  little  Immediate  difficulty  ensued. 
The  Committee  were  courteously  received.  Tues- 
day evening,  at  nine,  Harding's  saloon  in  the 
building  where  your  Grammar  School  was,  was  as 
dark  as  a  pocket  and  so  was  Pike's.  In  fact, 
Lettenmayer's  saloon  is  "busted"  under  Cheshire 
Bank,  and  sign  gone,  and  Kelley  (Apothecary)  has 
I  206  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

failed.  The  streets  have  certainly  been  much 
quieter.  Meantime,  I  think,  the  Committee  mean 
to  prosecute  any  violations  of  the  law  which  shall 
come  to  their  knowledge.  Although,  doubtless, 
there  may  be  sales  still,  they  must  perforce  be  less 
flagrant  and  open,  which  fact  makes  the  streets 
pleasanter  to  walk  through,  at  least. 

It  was  so  very  rainy  last  evening  that  inasmuch 
as  Bishop  Hugh  Latimer  had  waited  more  than 
three  hundred  years  before  holding  forth  in  Keene, 
I  persuaded  him  to  wait  a  fortnight  longer,  as  I 
thought  that  't  was  a  pity  to  wait  so  many  cen- 
turies for  such  a  sorry  evening  as  last  evening 
was. 

A  fortnight  later  he  writes:  — 

"I  should  like  to  read  you  sometime  or  other,  the 
sermon  of  Latimer  which  I  read  the  other  evening 
at  the  church  parlor.  One  sentence  I  will  give  you 
now.  'Consider  it  well,  I  had  rather  ye  should 
come  with  a  naughty  mind  to  hear  the  word  of  God 
for  novelty,  or  for  curiosity  to  hear  some  pastime, 
than  be  away.  I  had  rather  you  should  come,  as 
the  tale  is  of  the  gentlewoman  of  London;  one  of 
her  neighbors  met  her  in  the  street,  and  said, — 
'Mistress,  whither  go  ye.^" 
[  207  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

""'Marry,*'  said  she,  "I  am  going  now  to  St. 
Thomas  of  Acres  to  the  sermon;  I  could  not  sleep 
all  the  last  night,  and  I  am  going  now  thither;  I 
never  failed  of  a  good  nap  there." 

And  so  I  had  rather  ye  would  go  a  napping  to 
the  sermons  than  not  to  go  at  all:  for  with  what 
mind  soever  ye  come,  though  ye  come  for  an  evil 
purpose,  yet  peradventure,  ye  may  chance  to  be 
caught  ere  you  go;  the  preacher  may  chance  to 
catch  you  on  his  hook.' 

"This  particular  sermon  was  preached  before 
King  Edward  Sixth,  April  12,  1549.  The  good  man 
must  then  have  been  nearly  eighty,  for  he  was 
about  eighty-five  when  in  1555  he  was  burned  at 
Oxford." 

My  father  begins  one  of  his  letters  to  me  with 
some  spicy  nonsense  verses  which  he  invents  for 
the  occasion,  and  he  adds:  — 

"Pardon  the  rhyming,  my  beloved  daughter, 
but  I  am  fresh  from  handling  the  seven  hundred 
and  ninety-seven  hymns  which  came  to  me  an 
hour  or  two  ago  from  Rev.  James  Martineau  'with 
the  Editor's  grateful  regards.'  I  am  very  much 
pleased  with  the  volume,  although  I  miss  hymns 
which  I  should  be  glad  to  see  there,  and  discover 
familiar  hymns  that  had  disappeared  from  the 
[  208  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

more  recent  books,  and  I  see  new  hymns  of  whose 
existence  I  was  not  aware,  and  which  promise  to 
be  valuable.  Of  course  I  have  had  no  time  to  give 
the  book  a  thorough  examination  yet. 

"I  have  been  enjoying  the  life  of  Colonel  Tim- 
othy Pickering  this  week,  and  as  there  are  two 
more  large  volumes,  I  shall  have  it  to  enjoy,  at 
intervals,  for  some  time.  ...  As  I  well  remember 
the  valiant  Colonel  who  sat  two  pews  in  front  of  us 
at  church,  and  who  died  when  I  was  eight  years 
old,  the  life  of  this  trusted  companion  of  General 
Washington  in  war,  and  his  Secretary  of  State, 
afterwards,  in  peace,  has  double  interest  for  me. 
You  will  sometime  be  interested  in  the  life  of 
Schiller  by  Carlyle,  which  I  have  also  been  lately 
reading.  It  gives  some  account  of  Schubert,  whose 
music,  I  see  that  'Perabo'  is  advertised  to  play  in 
Boston.  Poor  Schubert  led  a  wild  and  weary  and 
imprisoned  life.  If  his  music  reflects  his  troubled 
passions  at  all,  there  must  be  something  restless 
and  exciting  in  it." 

To  E.  0.  W. 
Dear  Soul:  — 

To  thee  I  wrote  last  night,  but  specially  am  I 
anxious  to  know  when  you  get  the  letter.  For  twist 
[  209  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

and  twirl  It,  had  I  to,  in  order  to  jam  It  into  the 
gills  of  the  mail-bag  at  the  depot.  It  contained  a 
hymn  that  I  copied  from  Dr.  Martlneau's  new 
book.  .  .  . 

We're  glad  the  G.  S.  Hale  matter  is  so  snugly 
arranged,  and  that  you  go  also  to  Mrs.  Parker.  It  is 
a  good  part  of  your  education  (which  often  best 
goes  on  insensibly)  to  meet  these  cultured  people 
and  join  in  conversation  with  them. 

I  think  my  opportunity  of  seeing  agreeable  and 
cultivated  families  in  Cambridge  was  an  essential 
part  of  my  own  training,  as  I  look  back  on  it. 

I  could  much  better  have  spared  "  conic  sections  " 
and  "calculus,"  etc.,  and  a  lot  of  things  which 
were  only  valuable  as  "mental  discipline,"  and 
which  did  not  give  the  mental  discipline  which 
exercising  my  mind  in  conversation  with  sensible 
and  scholarly  people,  did. 

But  no  more  now  from  thy  father 

W.  0.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
January  24,  1874. 

To  E.  O.  W. 

...  I  often  think    how  he  (your  grandfather) 
would  enjoy  such  a  thing  as  this  (which  I  quote 
I  210  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

from  Mrs.  Somerville's  recollections)  and  many 
other  things  which  I  see  or  hear,  or  read.  There 
was  simply  some  rough  water  like  that  which  we 
had  in  our  Cape  Cottage  sail. 

"Mind  how  you  steer,  George;  remember  I 
trust  in  you,"  quoth  Mrs.  Somerville's  mother, 

George  laughed,  and  said,  "Dinna  trust  in  me, 
leddy;  trust  in  God  Almighty." 

Our  mother  (down  below)  called  out  in  perfect 
terror,  "Dear  me!    has  it  come  to  that?" 

We  burst  out  laughing,  skipper  and  all. 

Brattleboro,  Vermont, 
Tuesday,  June  2,  1874,  7  a.m. 

My  dear  Daughter:  — 

I  reached  Keene  in  good  time  on  Friday  morn- 
ing  

I  speedily  took  to  the  garden,  watching  the 
growth  of  each  batch  of  blossoms  on  the  various 
trees  and  hearkening  to  catbirds  and  golden 
robins. 

A  catbird  on  Saturday  morning  sang  for  fifteen 
minutes  a  variety  of  snatches  worth  a  fifty-cent 
ticket  much  more  than  concerts  at  the  Town  Hall 
have  been  for  which  I  have  paid  this  sum.  But  I 
suppose  any  piece  of  paper  would  have  suited  him 
[211  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

equally  well.  I  have  discovered  three  new  birds' 
nests  since  my  return;  a  chipping-bird's  on  the 
Porter  tree,  and  what  I  think  must  be  a  yellow- 
bird's  on  an  apple  tree  by  the  gooseberry  bushes 
(it  is  so  white  with  wool  that  you  can  hardly  tell 
it  from  the  blossoms),  and  a  curious,  deftly  made 
nest  on  the  buckthorn  hedge  near  the  Astrachan 
tree  whose  inmates  I  have  not  yet  seen,  but  upon 
whose  privacy  I  fear  that  the  cats  will  intrude 
before  I  see  it  again. 

To  E.  O.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
Tuesday  evening,  Apnl  13,  1875. 

I  trust  that  you  are  not  having  our  snow-storm 
which  has  been  quietly  proceeding  since  two 
o'clock,  and  which  I  should  like  better,  were  I  not 
vexed  to  think  of  the  robins  and  other  birds  who 
have  not  considered  themselves  invited  all  the  way 
from  the  South  to  see  this  sort  of  a  "crumb- 
spread,"  and  on  so  large  a  scale.  It  ought  to  call 
out  a  crumb-spread  of  a  different  sort.  Well,  I  sup- 
pose we  should  borrow  trouble  about  the  way 
things  go  on  in  the  other  planets,  if  we  only  knew 
that  they  go  on  at  all.  He  who  makes  birds  and 
snow-storms  both,  can  adjust  their  mutual  econ- 
[  212  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

omy,  I  fancy,  while  we  turn  to  those  things  for 
which  we  know  we  are  responsible. 

To  E.  O.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire,  January  22,  1876. 
Saturday,  10  min.  before  3  p.m. 

Miss  B.  dined  here  to-day.  There  is  a  rug 
a-lining,  and  such  like  matters  going  on.  Yester- 
day a  sort  of  waltz  and  country-dance  superadded 
went  on  among  the  pieces  of  furniture  in  the 
dining-room,  judging  from  their  postures,  and  the 
carpets  were  removed  for  their  freer  movements. 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
February  7,  1874. 

My  dear  Mother:  — 

I  have  been  at  three  very  dry  funerals  lately; 
one,  —  that  of  a  "Poor-Farm"  septuagenarian 
whose  last  hours  were  beguiled  by  the  assurance  of 
her  spouse  that  he  did  n't  believe  that  she  meant  to 
die;  the  other  that  of  a  septuagenarian  bachelor 
here  who  was  commonly  in  close  league  with  spirits, 
—  but  alas!  not  those  of  the  just;  the  third  the 
septuagenarian  husband  of  a  lady  (in  a  neighboring 
town),  whose  first  husband's  funeral  I  had  attended 
there  fifteen  years  ago.  "A  good  provider"  was 
[  213  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

about  all  I  could  hear  regarding  him,  as  he,  too, 
provided  too  lavishly  for  himself,  things  which 
hindered  rather  than  helped.  One  thing  was  pleas- 
ant; the  lonely  fifteen-year-old  orphan  of  the  fun- 
eral (fifteen  years  ago)  was  now  transformed  into  a 
prosperous  manufacturer. 

To  R.  H.  W. 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
March  2,  1874. 

My  dear  Mother:  — 

We  had  a  curious  speech  at  our  Temperance 
meeting  Thursday  evening,  at  the  Town  Hall.  I 
had  just  finished  talking,  when  a  zealous  Advent 
preacher  got  up,  and  with  great  earnestness  repre- 
sented "coming  to  Jesus"  to  be  the  only  basis  in 
this  reform.  Nothing  availed  him  until  this.  After 
stating  in  similar  terms  what  in  the  way  of  spirit 
he  gave,  he  added,  "and  I  gave  Jesus  my  pipe 
and  my  tobacco  box."  And  this,  with  great  so- 
lemnity. I  suppose  this  phraseology  is  canonized 
in  his  mind,  "giving  everything  to  Jesus,"  good  — 
or  bad. 

This  letter  closes  the  correspondence  between 
my  father  and  his  stepmother,  who  died  on  Novem- 
ber 28,  1874,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety  years, 
[  214  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

seven  months  and  ten  days,  retaining  her  vigor  of 
mind  up  to  the  last. 

To  Dr.  James  Martineau 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
June  7,  1876. 

In  your  reasoning  with  Tyndall,  I  am  reminded 
of  one  who  tries  to  argue  with  a  child,  but 
who  all  the  time  feels  that  it  is  more  than  half 
hopeless.  The  child  must  grow:  the  basis  is  not 
there,  on  which  to  build.  So  Tyndall  must  be 
"born  again"  (that's  the  long  and  the  short  of  it), 
to  sympathize  with  Cudworth  and  you.  I  am  in- 
formed that  he  was  brought  up  in  a  rigid  and  un- 
genial  Presbyterianism.  No  wonder  that  certain 
men  of  this  fashion  may  feel  more  coolly  than 
spiritually-minded  men  can,  about  the  question  of 
immortality.  One  lifetime  might  do  as  well  as 
twenty  to  peep  into  gases.  For  that  other  "a  liquid 
immensum  infinitumque^^  eternity  can  be  none  too 
long.  It  may  be  want  of  charity  in  me,  but  how- 
ever grand  their  intellects  or  achievements,  some 
of  these  men  remind  me  of  "Undine"  the  water- 
sprite,  without  a  soul.  .  .  . 

But  your  task  is  eminently  imperative,  since  so 
many  young  people  are  carried  away  by  the  word 
[  215  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

"Science,"  and  are  ready  to  take  every  new  theory 
in  that  department  for  gospel. 

In  the  summer  of  1876  Mr.  White  in  a  character- 
istic letter  asked  his  parish  for  leave  of  absence  for 
a  year  as  he  wanted  to  take  his  family  to  Europe. 
He  says:  — 

On  the  first  day  of  August  it  will  be  twenty-five 
years  since  you  asked  me  to  become  your  minister, 
and  the  first  day  of  October  twenty-five  years  will 
have  passed  since  I  was  installed  as  your  pastor. 

I  desire  to  be  relieved  from  the  care  of  the  pulpit 
and  the  parish  for  a  year  from  and  after  the  first 
Sunday,  the  first  day  of  October  next. 

When  you  kindly  consented  to  my  having  four 
Sundays  in  each  and  every  year  to  myself,  nothing 
was  said  about  my  having  fifty-two  Sundays  at  the 
end  of  twenty-five  years.  I  should  have  then  been 
appalled  at  the  thought  of  these  twenty-five  length- 
ening years,  and  you  might  have  deemed  it  inap- 
propriate, in  dealing  with  this  young  man  of  thirty, 
to  offer  any  premium  for  his  remaining  a  quarter  of 
a  century  among  you. 

So  long  as  I  had  the  health,  and  could  gain  a 
respite,  annually,  from  care  by  pulpit  exchanges  in 
[  216  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

August,  I  was  not  careful,  commonly,  to  ask  the 
Trustees  to  fill  the  pulpit  by  supply  for  more  than 
two  Sundays.  If  an  absence  of  fifty-two  Sundays 
should  seem  a  long  one  to  some  people,  I  trust  that 
they  will  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  labored  some 
thirty-nine  or  forty  Sundays  during  my  stay,  when, 
by  the  terms  of  my  settlement,  I  was  not  thus  re- 
quired; and  that  they  will  also  remember  that 
while  numerous  ministers  have  been  absent  from 
their  posts  during  this  period,  for  the  space  of  a 
year,  more  or  less,  there  has  been  but  one  month 
out  of  these  nearly  three  hundred  months  upon 
some  day  of  which  I  have  not  been  in  Keene. 

And  having  arrived  at  the  age  of  fifty-five,  I  am 
reminded  that  there  is  a  risk  in  postponing  a  jour- 
ney, which  I  am  more  anxious  to  take  on  behalf 
of  my  family  than  on  my  own  account. 

And  so,  dear  friends,  I  leave  the  case  in  your 
hands,  and  remain,  with  deep  regard. 

Affectionately  your  friend  and  pastor, 

Will:  O.  White. 

My  father  and  mother,   as   has   already  been 
shown,  were  both  of  them  extremely  fond  of  out- 
of-door  life,  and  the  last  few  years  in  Keene  they 
could  indulge  this  taste  with  greater  freedom  than 
I  217  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

ever,  as  my  father  had  his  own  horse,  a  practical 
family  beast,  able  to  turn  from  drawing  wood  from 
our  woodlot,  or  bringing  back  barrels  of  apples 
from  the  orchard  my  father  had  now  acquired  at 
the  other  end  of  the  town,  or  potatoes  from  the 
farm  he  had  bought  on  the  top  of  Beech  Hill,  to 
taking  my  mother  on  her  daily  drive.  He  was  a 
somewhat  plodding  and  stupid-looking  animal,  of 
irreproachable  white,  and  when  we  drove  our- 
selves, it  was  hard  to  get  him  to  go  beyond  a  dis- 
creet and  decorous  pace,  but  the  minute  he  felt 
the  touch  of  the  hand  of  our  man  on  the  reins,  he 
became  another  animal  and  went  in  a  fleet  and 
spirited  manner. 

It  is  hard  to  say  during  which  season  these  drives 
were  the  more  beautiful.  There  were  the  expedi- 
tions for  mayflowers  when  the  woods  were  full  of 
spicy  odors,  and  the  first  hints  of  early  spring;  and 
the  first  picnic,  perhaps  including  the  crowning  of  a 
May  Queen;  and  there  were  the  summer  drives 
when  the  red  lilies  filled  the  fields,  or  the  shy  car- 
dinal flowers  could  sometimes  be  found;  there  were 
the  summer  picnics,  when  the  family  and  their 
guests  took  their  supper  by  Beaver  Brook  Falls 
or  the  Ashuelot  River,  or  took  their  dinner  by 
Dublin  Pond,  whose  shores  in  those  halcyon  days 
[  218  ] 


LATER  YEARS  IN  KEENE 

were  free  to  all  comers.  Perhaps  the  most  exhila- 
rating of  ail  were  the  autumn  drives  to  the  orchard, 
when  the  air  was  crisp  and  bracing,  and  the  maples 
along  the  way  were  flaming  red  and  yellow,  and 
the  road  was  edged  with  the  deep-blue  fringed  gen- 
tians. Winter,  too,  had  its  especial  charm  when 
the  sleigh  sped  swiftly  over  the  snow,  and  the  pines 
and  hemlocks  were  bent  under  their  white  burden. 
Happy  is  the  child  who  has  grown  up  in  the  coun- 
try and  has  been  allowed  to  be  the  chosen  com- 
panion of  his  parents.  One  may  lose  the  inheri- 
tance of  money,  but  this  other  inheritance  remains 
as  long  as  memory  lasts. 


CHAPTER  XI 

EUROPE    AND    LAST   YEAR    IN   KEENE 
I 876-1 878 

On  October  7,  1876,  Mr.  White  sailed  with  his 
family  for  England.  The  voyage  was  very  different 
from  the  one  he  took  in  1841,  although,  compared 
with  the  luxurious  boats  of  to-day,  the  Batavia 
was  a  primitive  affair.  The  year  spent  in  Europe 
was  filled  to  the  brim  with  varied  experiences,  all 
of  them  full  of  interest.  My  father  had  the  great 
pleasure  of  showing  us  the  scenes  which  were 
doubly  interesting  to  him  on  account  of  the  asso- 
ciations of  thirty-five  years  earlier;  while  to  my 
mother,  who  had  not  been  abroad  since  she  was 
a  child  of  two,  Europe  was  a  land  of  enchantment. 
The  journey  the  travellers  took  was  the  ordinary 
one,  but  it  was  made  memorable  by  the  unusually 
keen  powers  of  enjoyment  which  both  my  father 
and  mother  possessed. 

The  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Martineau,  which 
had  been  so  pleasantly  begun  over  his  hymn-book, 
ripened  into  a  friendship  when  he  and  my  father 
met  face  to  face.  Dr.  Martineau  was  a  man  with 
such  remarkable  spiritual  and  mental  gifts  that  it 
[  220  ] 


EUROPE 

would  be  hard  to  imagine  any  6ne  better  suited  to 
stand  as  one's  ideal  of  what  the  race  might  be.  No 
one  who  has  ever  seen  him  can  forget  a  personality 
so  unusual  and  so  full  of  grace  and  kindliness.  At 
this  time  he  was  a  little  past  seventy  with  silvery 
hair  and  features  that  were  clear-cut  and  noble. 
His  delightful  voice  and  courteous  manner  com- 
pelled the  attention  of  all  his  listeners,  while  the 
force  and  charm  of  his  language  made  any  subject, 
no  matter  how  spiritual  or  ethical,  seem  vividly 
interesting  even  to  the  youngest  ears. 

After  a  few  weeks  in  London  which  were  made 
memorable  not  only  by  the  sights  of  the  city,  but 
by  meeting  various  people  of  interest,  the  travellers 
took  a  trip  through  some  of  the  cathedral  towns, 
and  crossed  to  France.  My  mother  describes  in 
her  journal  the  Paris  of  those  days:  — 

"Some  of  the  pleasantest  things  we  do  are  the 
little  accidental  things  that  we  happen  into,  going 
to  and  coming  from  our  regular  expeditions.  We 
drop  in  at  a  Catholic  shop,  for  instance,  filled  with 
lovely  wax  baby  Jesuses  asleep  in  the  manger,  with 
his  mother  and  Joseph  and  the  wise  men  and  the 
cattle  all  kneeling  around  him  and  we  find  sweet 
little  Catholic  pictures  on  cards,  and  it  grows  dark 
and  we  come  out  to  find  It  raining  a  flood.    We 

[   221    ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

wander  about  on  the  glistering  pavements  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  shops, 
utterly  ignorant  as  to  which  way  we  ought  to  go. 
We  hail  an  omnibus,  but  it  is  not  going  to  the  Arc 
d'Etoile.  We  hail  a  fiacre,  the  cocher  shakes  his 
head  and  says  "Pris";  we  try  the  tram-way,  no, 
that  will  carry  us  in  the  wrong  direction.  We 
inquire  our  way  to  the  river  to  take  the  Bateaux 
omnibus,  but  that  is  a  ten  minutes'  walk.  We  start, 
however,  to  find  our  way  there,  but  the  streets  are 
so  narrow,  and  so  dark,  and  so  full  of  vehicles  that 
we  turn  back  once  more  to  try  for  a.  fiacre.  We  see, 
by  the  lighted  windows  again,  the  strange-looking 
crowd  hurrying  by:  a  woman  under  an  umbrella, 
with  her  cap  border  flying  back,  her  dress  held  up 
very  high  —  a  priest  in  his  black,  broad-brimmed 
hat  and  his  long  black  dress  tied  at  the  waist  with 
a  black  cord  and  tassel  or  a  wide  sash.  He  rushes 
by  holding  up  his  petticoats  as  his  female  neighbor 
does,  .  .  .  the  father  of  a  family  with  his  loaf  of 
bread  a  yard  and  a  half  long  —  rowdy  men  who 
smell  of  brandy,  —  the  street-sweepers  with  their 
brooms  sending  the  mud  flying  all  over  you;  at 
last  a.  fiacre  draws  up."^ 

From  France  we  went  to  Italy,  spending  the 

'  From  After  Noontide. 
[   222    ] 


EUROPE 

rest  of  the  winter  and  early  spring  chiefly  in  Rome, 
Naples,  Florence,  and  Venice,  and  going  over  the 
Cornice  Pass  into  Switzerland  in  May.  My  mother 
thus  describes  the  drive: — - 

Before  long  we  began  to  go  up  hill  and 
were  in  ecstasies  of  delight.  .  .  .  And  now  we 
begin  to  see  a  little  snow  here  and  there,  and 
patches  of  white  flowers  springing  up  just  on  its 
edge.  What  can  they  be?  They  look  like  crocuses, 
say  I,  and  so  they  were.  And  all  that  day  we 
kept  seeing  acres  of  them,  with  a  few  blue  ones 
scattered  among  them.  .  .  .  The  snow  grows  deeper 
and  deeper,  until  at  the  top  we  drive  through  walls 
of  snow  twenty-eight  feet  high,  although  our  road 
is  quite  open.  The  falling  snow  prevents  our  seeing 
a  thing,  except  here  and  there  we  get  a  glimpse 
into  an  abyss  of  surging  vapor,  and  we  know  that 
we  are  on  the  edge  of  a  fearful  precipice.  Occasion- 
ally, too,  a  gust  of  wind  blows  aside  the  snow  for  a 
moment,  and  we  see  a  gray,  dim  mountain  peak 
close  above  us.  .  .  .  We  go  through  galleries  cut 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  the  clear  blocks  of  ice 
are  piled  up  on  either  side,  so  that  we  really  are  in 
a  tunnel  of  ice.  And  over  the  window,  instead  of 
rushing  waters,  we  see  frozen  cascades,  and  feel  as 
if  we  had  found  out  where  the  hoar  frost  is  made 
[  223  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

and  the  birthplace  of  the  winter  storms.  .  .  .  Be- 
fore long  the  sun  is  shining  upon  us,  and  we  can 
look  back  and  up  to  the  mountain  summit  we  have 
just  crossed,  and  feel  as  if  the  winter  we  found 
there  must  be  a  delusion,  only  that  there  is  the 
snow,  white  and  cold  against  the  sky.  As  we  drew 
near  Brigue  we  got  out  to  get  a  view,  which  was 
one  of  the  most  exquisite  I  ever  saw.  We  looked 
down  a  vista  between  two  hills,  out  on  to  a  plain 
far  away,  and  winding  through  it  was  the  Rhone, 
looking  like  a  thread  of  silver,  and  beyond  the 
plain  was  range  after  range  of  distant  hills,  each 
one  softer  than  the  last,  until  you  could  not  tell 
where  they  ended  and  the  clouds  began.  And  the 
whole  scene  was  flooded  with  the  most  wonderful 
sunset,  yellow  and  red,  streaming  out  through 
heavy  clouds.  I  thought  of  the  hills  of  Beulah  and 
the  heavenly  country  beyond."^ 

In  September  Mr.  White  and  his  family  spent  a 
few  days  on  one  of  the  estates  of  the  brother  of  the 
Scottish  friend  whom  he  met  in  travelling  in  1841. 
The  customs  of  the  household  seemed  to  take  one 
back  Into  a  land  of  romance,  and  It  was  as  If  one 
were  living  for  a  time  in  a  novel  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott.    At  dinner  the  host  was  dressed  In  a  black 

^  From  After  Noontide. 
[    224   ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

velvet  jacket  adorned  by  various  blazing  orders, 
while  he  wore  a  kilted  skirt  made  of  the  plaid  of  his 
clan,  which  showed  his  bare  knees;  and  a  retinue 
of  servants  waited  on  table,  some  in  kilts,  some  in 
velvet  short-clothes  and  gold-laced  coats,  and  just 
before  dessert  a  piper  in  Scotch  costume,  something 
like  his  master's,  but  less  elaborate,  marched  around 
the  table  playing  old  Highland  tunes  on  the  bag- 
pipes. He  had  an  air  of  such  self-importance  that 
one  felt  that  he  envied  no  man,  but  was  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  the  position  in  which  it  had  pleased 
Providence  to  place  him.  The  ladies  of  the  house 
completed  the  picture  by  wearing  low-necked 
evening  dresses  of  soft  colors  and  shimmering  tex- 
ture, so  that  the  child  of  the  party  remarked  in  an 
awed  whisper  that  they  looked  like  Cinderella  at 
the  ball. 

The  year  of  rest  and  refreshment  came  to  an 
end  at  last  and  Mr.  White  went  back  to  his  con- 
genial work  and  duties  as  minister  of  the  Keene 
parish.  He  had  hoped  to  round  out  his  thirty  years 
of  preaching  in  the  town  which  he  loved  so  well, 
but  in  the  autumn  of  1878,  only  a  year  after  his 
return  from  Europe,  he  had  reason  to  think  that 
there  was  a  certain  element  in  the  parish  who 
wanted  a  younger  man,  so  he  sent  in  his  resigna- 
[  225  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

tlon  which  was  not  accepted  by  an  almost  unani- 
mous vote.  But  nevertheless  he  held  to  his  de- 
termination, and  went  to  Boston  with  his  family 
for  the  winter  of  1878  and  1879. 

The  following  letter  written  to  his  friend, 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  shows  the  way  in  which, 
while  regretting  that  his  term  of  service  was  over 
in  Keene,  he  looked  forward  with  his  usual  cheer- 
ful philosophy  to  the  life  that  lay  before  him :  — 

Keene,  New  Hampshire, 
December  21,  1878. 

My  dear  Edward:  — 

In  the  hasty  interview  which  I  had  with  you, 
that  morning,  in  the  horse-car,  I  failed  to  thank 
you  for  your  very  kind  and  thoughtful  note,  at  the 
time  of  my  resigning  the  pulpit  here.  "  Laudari  a 
laudato,''^  is  no  less  agreeable  a  sensation  than  it 
was  when  the  words  in  which  the  sentiment  is 
expressed,  were  more  alive  than  "dead." 

We  have  had  everything  to  enjoy  in  being  here; 
and  to  be  in  this  world  still,  and  in  so  much  better 
health  than  when  I  was  younger,  to  be  In  the  world 
yet  at  an  age  when  so  many  wiser  and  better  min- 
isters have  already  left  it.  Is  something  to  be  thank- 
ful for,  on  the  part  of  one  who  has  so  many  ties  to 
[  226  1 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

life,  even  should  he  be  henceforth  appointed  the 
easier  task  of  a  listener  instead  of  that  of  a  speaker. 

I  am  led  to  think  that  the  sudden  collapsing  in 
one's  first  harness,  a  boon  so  often  desired,  must 
make  many  persons,  in  this  world,  quite  insensible 
to  the  sort  of  hold  which  they  have  had  on  some 
hearts. 

Going  to  Europe,  or  resigning,  —  the  latter  feat 
especially,  —  brings  out  sundry  testimonies,  of 
which  too  many  worthy  ministers  may  die  without 
the  sight. 

So,  however  much  I  might  have  been  glad  to  do 
in  a  better  way,  I  have  already  had  more  than  my 
share  of  good-will  and  kindly  appreciation  among 
those  whom  I  have  tried  to  help;  and  am  very  con- 
tent to  lay  by  my  arrows  in  the  quiver,  before  the 
bow  is  broken. 

Thankfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

Will:  Orne  White. 

When  it  was  found  that  Mr.  White  was  really 
going  to  leave  the  town  where  he  had  lived  and 
worked  so  faithfully  for  twenty-seven  years,  there 
were  many  of  his  parishioners  who  could  not  be 
reconciled  to  the  idea,  while  the  feeling  of  regret 
in  the  other  parishes  was  almost  as  strong,  and  for 
[  227  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

years  after  he  had  severed  his  official  connection 
with  his  parish,  the  spiritual  tie  between  them 
was  still  a  close  one.  He  was  summoned  over  and 
over  again  to  Keene  to  attend  a  wedding  or  a 
funeral.  His  parishioners'  sorrows  were  always 
very  close  to  his  heart,  and  if  he  was  not  called 
upon  to  take  part  in  the  funeral  service,  he  would 
write  a  letter  of  consolation  full  of  his  own  strong 
faith  in  immortality  and  in  the  power  of  the  human 
soul  to  get  sustenance  from  the  griefs  and  trials 
which  seemed  the  hardest  to  bear.  This  is  one  of 
the  many  letters  of  the  kind  that  he  wrote  after 
leaving  Keene:  — 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
December  4,  1893.    Monday  afternoon. 

Mrs.  F.  a.  Faulkner 

My  dear  Friend:  —  I  am  with  you  in  spirit  at 
this  moment,  and  the  familiar  dwelling,  with  the 
sorrowing  group  who  gather  there,  seems  as  pres- 
ent to  me  as  it  did  again  and  again,  long  years 
ago. 

It  has  been  a  pleasure  to  me,  twice  within  a  few 
years,  when  travelling,  to  meet  Charles,  and  to 
note  what  a  cheery,  thoughtful,  manly  young 
fellow  he  had  become. 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

You  were  looking  forward  to  seeing  him  once 
more  established  near  you,  and  the  sudden  rupture 
of  these  happy  expectations  must  indeed  seem  like 
a  dream.  And  at  such  moments,  does  not  the  whole 
of  life  sometimes  seem  so,  too;  a  faint  foreshadow- 
ing of  something  beyond  of  a  nature  that  is  endur- 
ing? "A  city  that  hath  foundations"  seems  then 
to  rise  before  us:  the  better  home  seems  to  open  its 
portals  to  us  in  vision,  and  the  dear  one  whose 
footstep  has  scarce  ceased  to  echo  near  the  earthly 
threshold,  is  rapturously  welcomed  by  kindred  and 
companions  whose  look  testifies  how  eagerly  they 
have  been  awaiting  him! 

From  such  a  mount  of  vision  we  seem  to  behold 
both  worlds,  and,  for  the  moment,  to  realize  how  a 
brave,  loving,  ingenuous  spirit  is  exchanging  the 
"hope  deferred,"  the  restless  competitions,  the 
baffling  uncertainties  of  the  earthly  voyage  for  the 
glad  and  restful  anchorage  beyond. 

Yet,  as  we  come  back  to  the  stern  realities  of  a 
darkened  earthly  home,  we  cry  out,  "Where,  O! 
where,  more  needed  than  here.''"  At  length,  how- 
ever, we  feed  lovingly  upon  the  recollections  bound 
up  in  the  past;  how  the  face  smiles  for  us  again, 
how  the  merry  greeting  rings  on  the  air,  how  many 
and  many  half  forgotten  scenes  stamp  themselves 
[  229  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

afresh  upon  the  tablets  of  memory !  Then  we  realize 
how  much  is  really  left  to  us  of  the  friend  whose 
life  was  so  interwoven  with  our  own,  and,  as  we 
glance  into  the  future.  Death  seems  more  and  more 
like  the  good  Angel,  who,  as  our  turn  comes,  will 
lead  us  onward  to  a  more  soul-satisfying  union 
with  him  than  Earth  ever  afforded. 
Your  old  friend, 

William  Orne  White. 

My  lifelong  friend,  Ellen  Day  Hale,  thus  writes 
of  my  father's  sermons  and  prayers  during  those 
years  in  Keene:  — 

"Your  father's  preaching  was  more  of  an  influ- 
ence upon  me,  as  I  look  back  on  my  youth,  than 
any  one's  except  my  own  dear  father's;  and  yet  I 
have  heard  many  of  the  preachers  who  are  called 
great.  His  prayers,  too,  were  a  great  deal  to  me  as 
time  went  on;  it  became  a  part  of  the  happiness  I 
looked  forward  to,  in  a  stay  at  your  house,  to  join 
in  his  beautiful  morning  prayer,  or  even  the  short 
petition  before  each  meal,  adapted  to  any  unusual 
happy  circumstance.  As  you  remember  I  used  to 
make  my  yearly  visit  to  Keene  when  the  beauty 
of  Spring  was  at  its  height,  and  I  can  almost  hear 
him  quoting,  as  he  preached,  from  the  hymn  he 
[  230  ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

loved  to  hear  sung  to  the  old  air  we  used  to  call 

'Billings's  Jordan': — ■ 

Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  drest  in  living  green. ' 

The  enthusiasm  in  his  voice  was  full  of  his  love  for 
the  green  fields  by  the  Ashuelot. 

"One  of  those  sermons  was  about  Jacob's  sleep 
at  Bethel.  Most  preachers  lay  stress  on  the  lovely 
vision  of  the  ladder  of  angels;  but  your  father  dwelt 
on  the  thoughts  to  which  Jacob  woke.  He  made  us 
aware  that  in  any  of  our  dwelling-places  —  how- 
ever commonplace,  however  unpretending  —  we 
might  be  living,  in  truth,  in  the  very  house  of  God. 
The  effect  of  his  words  upon  me  was  deep  and  last- 
ing; and  often,  in  beginning  a  new  chapter  of  life 
in  some  new  home,  I  have  prayed,  as  he  taught  me 
that  day,  that  the  Lord  might  be  in  that  place, 
and  that  it  might  be  to  me  none  other  than  the 
House  of  God,  and  the  Gate  of  Heaven." 

Before  closing  this  chapter  of  my  father's  life  as 
a  country  minister,  in  order  to  give  some  idea  of 
the  sermons  which  made  such  a  profound  impres- 
sion, I  will  give  some  extracts  from  a  few  of 
them. 

Here  follows  part  of  a  New  Year's  sermon:  — 


231 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

'My  times  are  in  thy  hand."  Ps.  xxxi,  15. 


The  considerations  to  which  I  would  call  your 
attention  are  simple  and  obvious.  They  relate  to 
our  helplessness  as  regards  the  future,  and  to  the 
power  which  we  have  over  the  future.  Helpless, 
and  yet  mighty,  such  the  new  year  finds  us. 


We  are  helpless,  and  yet  we  are  full  of  power. 
How  is  this  ?  God  is  ready  to  give  us  power  to  meet 
the  events  of  the  future,  whatever  they  may  be. 
Do  we  not  have  then  at  our  control  the  twelve 
months  now  beginning.''  Are  they  not  completely 
in  our  grasp.''  Certainly  they  are,  if  we  use  the 
power  with  which  God  entrusts  us. 


If  the  wishes  of  our  friends  for  a  happy  year  can 
be  answered,  is  it  not  of  small  moment  what  are 
the  events  that  befall  us?  To  be  independent  of 
these  events  is  the  great  blessing  which  we  must 
desire.  It  is  a  very  low  and  a  very  superficial  view 
to  take  of  the  future,  to  concern  ourselves  chiefly 
with  the  things  which  may  happen  to  us,  and  forget 
to  be  anxious  about  the  way  in  which  we  shall  bear 
these  things.  How  we  are  to  feel,  what  we  are  to  be, 
this  year,  form  the  important  questions,  not  what 
[  232  1 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

will  happen  to  us.  We  know  that  the  very  enjoy- 
ments to  which  persons  have  most  anxiously  looked 
forward  have  often  strangely  disappointed  them. 


Whether  this  coming  year  be  a  brighter  or  a 
sadder  one  than  you  yet  have  experienced  is  known 
only  to  God.  The  state  of  feeling  with  which  you 
meet  these  various  changes  is  far  more  within  your 
control,  and  must  have  much  more  to  do  with  your 
happiness.  We  cannot  hope  every  year  to  be  ex- 
empt from  changes.  The  tenure  of  our  health  is 
insecure.  The  love  of  life  will  not  keep  our  souls 
always  within  these  perishing  bodies.  Affection, 
although  it  may  keep  its  beloved  objects  ever  near 
the  soul's  eye,  cannot  always  keep  them  within  the 
sphere  of  bodily  vision. 


How  we  are  prepared  to  endure  illness,  want, 
death  or  affliction,  will  be  the  reflection  which  will 
most  earnestly  engage  our  attention,  not  whether 
we  shall  be  fortunate  enough  to  escape  one  year 
longer  without  being  visited  by  any  of  these  calam- 
ities, as  we  may  regard  them. 


It  is  a  question  too  of  vastly  more  moment  if 
whenever  we  are  plunged  in  sudden  affliction  we 

[  233  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

have  faith  and  strength  to  sustain  us,  than  whether 
we  be  called  on  to  endure  sorrow  during  this  par- 
ticular year  or  not.  You  understand  me  then, 
that  it  is  the  formation  and  the  growth  of  those 
principles  which  in  all  life's  changeful  periods  and 
even  in  eternity  will  be  full  of  solace  and  incite- 
ment to  us,  which  we  ought  most  to  be  anxious 
about,  rather  than  whether  our  earthly  enjoyments 
be  more  or  less  protracted.  The  principles  acquired 
will  keep  by  us,  even  though  we  may  not  yet  need 
their  full  force.  The  enjoyments  protracted  will  be 
at  length  interrupted,  even  though  we  may  not 
have  secured  those  devout  affections  and  that 
religious  principle  which  will  enable  us  to  hush 
our  murmurs  and  patiently  acquiesce  in  the  will  of 
God.  We  do  not  ask  then,  if  we  approach  the  sub- 
ject with  a  wise  and  manly  courage,  how  far  we  are 
to  be  exempted  from  pecuniary  losses,  or  neglect, 
or  illness,  or  bereavement,  or  death,  this  year,  but 
we  ask  rather,  how  well  we  are  fortified  against 
these  various  troubles,  should  God  see  best  that 
this  be  the  year  of  our  fiery  trial. 

So  also  in  reference  to  the  enterprises  which  we 
hope  to  accomplish.     It  should  be  of  less  conse- 
quence to  us  whether  our  various  labors  succeed, 
than  whether  we  succeed  in  retaining  our  energy 
[  234  ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

and  our  hopefulness.  Some  year,  if  we  live  long, 
will  doubtless  doom  some  of  our  vigorous  enter- 
prises to  disappointment.  Let  us  not  be  too  anxious 
to  ask  whether  this  year  will  defeat  them  or  not. 
We  must  be  more  eager  to  know  how  well  we  can 
bear  being  disappointed  in  them ;  to  inquire  whether 
we  can  persevere  in  our  industry  and  ardor,  even 
though  our  favorite  plans  be  checked.  For  by 
doing,  as  well  as  by  enduring,  we  can  make  the 
future  our  own.  It  is  not  gaining  just  what  we 
wish  which  gives  us  strength;  it  is  putting  forth 
the  power  which  we  have.  The  more  strength  we 
put  forth,  the  more  we  receive.  He  who  uses  the 
five  talents,  to  him  are  sent  other  five.  Would 
you  ask  who  at  the  close  of  this  new  year  we  ought 
to  deem  the  most  successful  man?  I  would  not 
point  you  to  the  one  on  whom  fortune  may  never 
cease  to  smile,  nor  to  the  one  whose  dwelling  Is 
invariably  crowned  with  health  and  joy.  But  if 
when  the  December  snows  once  more  whiten  the 
earth,  you  can  show  me  one  who  has  struggled 
bravely  against  the  rebuffs  of  fortune,  who  has 
kept  a  cheerful  heart  under  the  pressure  of  physi- 
cal infirmity,  who,  although  less  strong  In  body, 
less  blessed  with  worldly  goods,  less  abounding  in 
friends  than  when  the  year  began,  has  wrought  out 
[  235  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

for  himself  from  all  these  discouragements  a  degree 
of  patience,  of  trust  and  of  celestial  faith  which 
were  not  his  before  —  if  you  can  show  me  such  an 
one,  you  will  point  to  the  successful  man  of  the 
year. 


The  man  of  the  year  is  he  who  carries  with  him 
from  month  to  month,  in  joy  or  grief,  in  wealth 
or  want,  in  life  or  in  death,  a  holy  ardor,  an  un- 
dlmmed  faith,  a  heart  full  of  generous  impulses,  a 
mind  always  turning  to  God  for  strength,  and 
always  finding  It.  Such  an  one  is  emphatically  the 
man  of  the  year;  for  while  the  year  is  pouring  her 
quiver  of  arrows  upon  him  he  bows  his  head  only 
in  token  of  submission  to  a  paternal  providence. 
To  him  these  separate  years  of  time  become  com- 
paratively unimportant  as  the  divisions  of  his  life. 
There  is  one  great  year  through  whose  cycles  he  is 
forever  passing  —  the  year,  the  Christian  year  of 
life. 


With  devout  fortitude  he  is  ready  to  number  the 
mercies  of  the  past.  Of  the  future,  he  dares  only 
to  say,  "My  times  are  in  thy  hand." 


236 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

Here  is  part  of  a  sermon  preached  in  the  spring- 
time :  — 

"Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison,  that  I  may  praise  thy  name." 

Ps.  CXLII,  7. 


The  soul  of  Nature,  seemingly  held  captive  dur- 
ing the  wintry  months,  now  that  her  icy  fetters  are 
removed,  and  the  long  "hope  deferred"  of  the 
Spring  bursts  into  promise,  seems  with  one  accord 
out  of  every  opening  bud  and  fragrant  blossom 
and  from  the  glad  throat  of  every  bird,  to  praise 
God. 

Can  we  ourselves  resist  altogether  the  contagion 
of  such  joyous  influences?  Brought  out  from  the 
dwellings  wherein  we  have  been  so  often  immured 
against  our  will,  into  this  larger  liberty  on  days 
when  we  feel  that  we  can  hardly  take  our  eyes  from 
the  marvellous  transformation  which  is  going  on 
around  us,  without  losing  part  of  its  swift  history, 
surely  we  must  feel  that  in  sympathy  with  the 
chorus  which  Is  everywhere  ascending  from  the 
world  of  nature,  It  is  no  hard  thing  for  us  to  say, 
"Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul,  and  all  that  is  within 
me,  bless  his  holy  name!" 

And  yet  there  are  persons  who  in  months  when 
great  Nature's  soul  seems  still  imprisoned  find  it 
I  237  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

easier  far  to  be  thankful  and  cheerful  than  others 
do  even  when  all  nature  seems  to  be  uttering  her 
anthem  of  restored  liberty.  So  we  must  consider 
to  what  mental  imprisonment  we  often  subject 
ourselves,  a  captivity  which  represses  the  outburst 
of  praise  which  we  ought  to  offer  to  God. 

First,  there  is  that  utter  absorption  in  care 
which  in  some  persons  seems  like  a  prison.  The 
captivity  of  the  mind  which  is  idling  away  its 
time,  the  mind  which  has  not  energy  enough  to 
take  hold  of  anything  may  be  even  worse,  but  there 
is  also  a  pressure  of  worldly  cares  which  is  so  un- 
resistingly yielded  to  by  other  minds,  as  almost  to 
suggest  the  idea  of  an  invisible  dungeon  whose 
walls  gather  around  the  person  wherever  he  goes. 


This  prison-house  of  care  far  oftener  gathers 
around  the  steps  of  those  who  have  little  need  to  be 
anxious  about  the  morrow.  They  have  accustomed 
themselves  to  the  whirl  of  recurring  cares  which 
leave  them  little  time  for  that  calm,  undisturbed 
frame  of  mind  in  which  they  can  praise  God. 

A  distinguished  speaker  recently  alluded  to  the 
intensities  of  business  competition  and  mercan- 
tile absorption  in  the  metropolis  where  his  lot  was 
cast,  as  affording  instances  which  reminded  him  of 
[  238  ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

some  beautiful  ship  bound  on  a  distant  voyage 
with  sails  all  set,  moving  over  the  seas  swiftly  and 
gracefully,  but  whose  owners  were  appalled,  as  she 
reached  her  point  of  destination,  to  discover  that 
there  was  one  thing  which  they  had  forgotten  in 
their  haste,  and  that  was  her  cargo!  So,  he  argued, 
character,  the  building  up  of  this  immortal  fabric, 
the  true  growth  of  all  the  holier  powers  of  our 
nature  is  lost  sight  of  by  too  many  persons  as  they 
hurry  onward  from  one  scene  to  another  of  earthly 
competition. 

And  what  is  just  such  a  condition  as  this  speaker 
alluded  to  but  one  of  imprisonment?  The  man 
may  build  his  own  cell;  he  may  put  it  as  it  were  on 
wheels,  it  may  not  rest  long  together  on  one  spot, 
but  it  becomes  a  scene  of  captivity  which  confines 
his  sympathies,  which  chains  down  his  loftier 
aspirations,  which  makes  him  the  servant  of  this 
inexorable  tyrant  of  care,  instead  of  its  master. 
Are  there  none  of  us  who  have  ever  felt  this  thral- 
dom for  a  space  of  time  long  enough  to  make  us 
ready  to  say  with  the  psalmist,  "Bring  my  soul 
out  of  prison,  that  I  may  praise  thy  name"? 

Let  us  strive  so  to  adjust  our  cares  as  to  allow 
them  to  help  us,  even  to  inspire  us  to  praise  God 
as  we  pursue  them  from  hour  to  hour,  from  our 
[  239  I 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

silent  hearts,  to  praise  him  for  the  very  healthful- 
ness  and  joy  of  the  cares  themselves,  rather  than 
to  be  burdened  by  them  with  an  excess  of  perplex- 
ity, and  a  mental  confusion  which  leaves  no  space 
for  constant,  hearty  gratitude,  and  little  time  for 
cheerful  active  sympathy  with  the  social  life  of  our 
fellow  beings. 


What  avails  it  for  us  that  we  have  solved  for 
ourselves  the  speculative  doubts  of  the  skeptic, 
only  to  be  visited  with  the  practical  doubts  of  the 
fastidious  and  the  indolent,  only  to  be  wondering 
where  our  place  is  anywhere  in  this  scene  of  human 
activities,  only  to  be  forever  vexed  with  the  ques- 
tions, "what  is  there  for  me  to  do  for  anybody,  and 
who  is  there  that  would  miss  me,  were  I  to  leave 
the  world  ? " 

There  can  be  no  worthy,  no  genuine  gratitude 
to  God  for  all  the  privileges  of  existence,  where  one 
does  not  see  them  to  be  privileges;  where  one  is  in 
this  sluggish,  this  inert  frame  of  mind  he  cannot 
call  upon  all  that  is  within  him  to  bless  God.  One 
must  awake  to  all  the  glorious  uses  and  to  the  im- 
mense opportunities  of  life,  would  he  praise  God 
for  its  bestowal,  and  he  that  has  little  faith  in  his 
own  power  to  serve  God  or  his  brethren,  is  in 
[  240  ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

spiritual  bondage,  and  his  prayer  may  well  be, 
"Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison  that  I  may  praise 
thy  name." 

Fourthly,  there  are  others  who,  perhaps  are  not 
self-distrustful  enough,  yet  who  bring  to  pass  as 
little  as  those  who  are  too  self-distrustful,  and  why? 
Because  of  envy.  The  envious  behold  the  position 
which  some  other  persons  occupy,  and  ask,  "Why 
am  I  not  there?  Why  could  not  I  be  sustaining 
those  duties  or  receiving  those  honors  as  well  as  he 
who  is  there?"  How  little  adapted  is  such  a  frame 
of  mind  for  a  spirit  of  hearty  gratitude! 


However  high  one  may  rise  in  this  life,  if  his  one 
reflection  be,  "Why  am  I  not  thought  more  of  or 
made  more  of  by  my  fellow  beings,"  he  will  never 
attain  to  that  calm,  self-poised,  earnest  frame  of 
spirit  in  which  he  so  magnifies  the  opportunities 
which  God  has  given  him,  and  so  looks  at  every- 
thing from  the  divine  point  of  view  rather  than  the 
human,  as  to  be  full  of  gratitude  for  the  blessings 
that  he  has  received. 


When  we  are  not  at  ease  in  our  own  minds,  when 
we  wish  that  something  in  our  outward  circum- 
stances might  be  changed,  in  the  hope  that  then  we 
I  241  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

should  be  truly  contented,  perfectly  happy,  we  are 
seeking  for  true  contentment  In  the  wrong  direction. 


O,  let  any  person  who  secretly  chafes  because  he 
or  she  does  not  have  more  done  for  them,  or  be- 
cause he  or  she  is  not  more  noticed,  reflect  upon  the 
dungeon  which  is  building  in  the  mind  where  such 
thoughts  are  going  on!  Let  them  be  eager  for  a 
wider  liberty  than  such  narrow,  such  grudging 
thoughts  can  afford!  Let  them  rather  pray, 
"Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison,  that  I  may  praise 
thy  name." 


There  is  no  date  to  mark  the  following  sermon, 
but  as  Mr.  White  left  Keene  in  1878  it  was  prob- 
ably written  some  years  earlier.  It  was  evidently 
preached  to  a  graduating  class  of  girls.  In  spite  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  delivered  more  than  forty 
years  ago,  its  tone  is  almost  modern  enough  to  sat- 
isfy the  young  suffragists  of  to-day.  Although  Mr. 
White  never  took  any  active  part  in  the  suffrage 
movement,  he  believed  In  the  inherent  right  of 
women  to  vote,  and  on  one  occasion  he  begged  a 
backslider  in  his  own  family  not  to  put  herself  on 
record  as  an  anti-suffragist. 
[  242  ] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

"Please  don't  do  anything  to  oppose  suffrage," 
he  said.  "You  belong  to  the  protected  class,  and 
you  have  no  way  of  judging  what  Is  best  for  work- 
ing-women." 

This  was  so  undeniable  a  fact  that  the  backslider 
yielded  to  the  parental  wish,  although  she  thought 
his  position  illogical,  for  surely  one  of  the  chief 
rights  of  woman  is  to  do  as  her  conscience  bids,  and 
not  merely  echo  the  views  of  a  husband  or  father. 

"Covet  earnestly  the  best  gifts."    i  Cor.  xii,  31. 

First,  let  me  charge  you,  in  coveting  earnestly 
the  best  gifts,  to  covet  the  gift  of  modesty.  You 
will  understand  that  I  mean  by  this  word  simplicity 
of  thought  and  manner  and  dress.  True  modesty 
comprehends  all  this.  It  does  not  mean  mere  shy- 
ness or  diffidence.  True  modesty  or  simplicity  sets 
its  rule  over  the  thoughts  and  aspirations.  One  who 
possesses  this  gift  cannot  be  envious  or  uncharit- 
able, whereas  the  person  who  Is  merely  distrustful 
or  diffident  may  be  so,  precisely  because  she  is  all 
the  time  coveting  the  attention  of  other  people. 
She  who  has  true  humility  of  mind,  as  well  as  sim- 
plicity of  manner,  escapes  a  thousand  temptations. 
She  secures  countless  happy  moments  by  means  of 
the  spirit  of  contentment  which  she  thus  acquires. 
[  H3  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

Such  an  inborn  modesty  shrinks  from  that  love  of 
show,  that  desire  for  creating  a  sensation  which 
characterizes  persons  of  a  different  spirit.  It  acts 
in  harmony  with  those  words  in  which  the  Apostle 
Peter  describes  the  very  garb  as  shaped  and  colored 
by  the  inherent  simplicity  of  the  heart,  when  he 
says,  "whose  adorning  let  it  not  be  that  outward 
adorning  of  plaiting  the  hair,  and  of  wearing  of 
gold,  or  of  putting  on  of  apparel,  but  let  it  be  the 
hidden  man  of  the  heart,  in  that  which  is  not  cor- 
ruptible, even  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit  which  is,  in  the  sight  of  God,  of  great  price." 


Covet  this  gift  of  modesty,  inward  and  outward, 
not  only  for  its  nobler  uses  as  connected  with 
thought  and  life,  but  were  it  only  for  the  habits  of 
frugality  it  will  encourage  in  you,  in  leading  you  to 
avoid  useless  expenditure  for  mere  show. 


Covet,  I  entreat  you,  covet  earnestly,  the  best 
gifts,  and  among  them  that  gift  of  modesty  which 
speaks  of  innate  refinement  of  character,  and  which 
is  eloquent  of  true  self-forgetfulness,  even  in  the 
manner  and  the  dress. 

Secondly,  covet  earnestly  the  gift  of  industry. 
The  time  is  approaching  when  it  will  be  as  poor  a 
[  244  1 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

designation  of  the  true  lady  that  she  has  nothing 
to  do,  as  it  is  of  the  true  gentleman.  The  channels 
of  employment  which  are  open  to  women  are  con- 
stantly multiplying.  They  need  only  to  do  the 
work  well,  which  they  undertake,  to  prove  their 
fitness  for  it,  and  their  right  to  be  allowed  to  under- 
take it.  Yet  how  stubborn  is  the  force  of  prejudice! 
A  young  woman  may  nurse  rough  men  in  distant 
hospitals,  who  are  sick  with  pestilential  diseases, 
as  that  angel  of  mercy  from  the  shores  of  England 
who  earned  the  blessing  of  the  sick  at  Scutari,  but 
to  use  the  instruments  of  surgery  or  administer 
medicines  is  thought  to  be  quite  another  thing;  she 
may  quell  the  turbulence  of  rude  boys  by  her  firm- 
ness and  wisdom  in  the  schoolroom,  but  to  lift  up 
her  voice  in  the  pulpit  and  seek  to  melt  the  hard- 
ened hearts  which  are  so  often  proof  against  the 
words  of  us  ministers,  is  thought  a  perilous  innova- 
tion upon  old  customs.  But  without  searching  out 
what  are  still  unusual  spheres  of  duty,  enough  re- 
mains, at  least  in  most  of  our  New  England  towns, 
for  young  women  to  do,  who  are  unwilling  to  eat 
the  bread  of  indolence. 


Be  you  what  the  world  calls  more  favored,  or  less 
favored,  —  mistaken  words  oftentimes,  for  penury 
[  245  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

may  give  a  sweet  stimulus  to  exertion  which  wealth 
cannot  bestow,  —  be  this  as  it  may  with  you,  find 
something  to  do.  The  richest  young  woman  in  the 
land  may  live  to  become  the  most  miserably 
unhappy,  from  the  mere  want  of  anything  to  which 
she  can  give  her  mind.  Doubtless  there  are  hun- 
dreds of  such  who  would  be  actually  happier,  could 
they  exchange  conditions  with  the  ploughman's 
daughter. 


Thirdly,  Covet  earnestly  the  gift  of  courage. 
"Courage,"  you  reply,  "does  he  expect  us  to  be 
soldiers.'"'  Yes,  that  is  just  what  I  expect  and 
desire  of  you,  to  be  soldiers  in  the  army  of  life; 
Christian  soldiers  in  the  great  moral  battle-field  of 
humanity.  Covet  this  sublime  gift  of  moral  cour- 
age. Humanly  speaking,  many  of  our  young  men 
might  be  saved,  if  you  had  more  of  this  gift.  How 
my  heart  has  ached  when  I  have  seen  young  women 
offering  the  wine  cup  to  young  men  or  even  receiv- 
ing it  from  their  hands!  I  am  not  in  the  way  of 
seeing  much  of  these  things  now,  but  they  go  on, 
in  how  many  towns  and  cities  of  our  land!  These 
glasses  ought  to  have  appropriate  emblems  upon 
them,  from  which  fair  hands  and  fair  lips  might  in- 
stantly recoil.  The  hissing,  coiling  serpent  should 
[  246] 


LAST  YEAR  IN  KEENE 

form  the  pedestal  for  such  a  glass,  "At  the  last  it 
biteth  like  a  serpent." 


Covet  this  moral  courage  which  shall  make  you 
true  to  the  purer  instincts  of  your  nature;  it  is 
amply  consistent  with  modesty.  Realize  how  great 
an  influence  you  can  have  over  the  tempted  and 
sinning,  as  you  recoil  from  the  faintest  look  or 
word  which  savors  of  impurity,  and  yet  while,  as 
sisters  or  earthly  friends,  you  try  to  infuse  higher 
principles  and  better  hopes  into  the  minds  of  the 
unwary. 


"Covet  earnestly  the  best  gifts!"  Covet  mod- 
esty, covet  Industry,  covet  courage,  covet  sym- 
pathy, covet  reverence,  —  and  then  God  grant  that 
your  way  may  be  soothed  to  the  last  by  the  bene- 
dictions of  all  who  know  you,  that  It  may  be  that 
"path  of  the  just  which  Is  as  the  morning  light 
which  shineth  brighter  and  brighter  unto  the 
perfect  day!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

FROM    SIXTY   TO    NINETY 
1881-I9II 

It  is  hard  to  give  in  a  few  words  an  adequate  im- 
pression of  the  last  third  of  my  father's  life  which 
was  so  uneventful  in  the  stirring  facts  that  make 
a  picturesque  chronicle,  but  so  rich  in  the  small 
happenings  that  make  the  charm  of  everyday  life. 
As  the  larger  cares  and  duties  dropped  away  from 
him  and  he  was  free  to  rest  among  his  books  and 
trees,  his  character  mellowed  and  he  gained  with 
years  a  peculiar  charm  which  was  especially  felt 
by  young  people  who  perhaps  understood  him  more 
completely  than  those  nearer  his  own  age. 

On  one  of  his  visits  to  Boston,  while  he  was  liv- 
ing in  Keene,  my  father  characteristically  writes: 
"The  weather  has  been  delightfully  cool;  a  good 
room  has  been  given  me  here  at  the  Parker  House, 
and  hence  I  can  sally  forth  on  my  friendly  raids 
upon  adjoining  towns,  much  as  a  spider,  from  his 
octagonal  web's  centre,  speeds  after  any  stray  fly 
upon  the  circumference."  And  he  also  says,  "To 
work  Newton  Centre,  Boston,  Salem,  and  Keene 
[  248  ] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

into  one  day,  is  more  than  I  could  have  known  how 
to  compass  ten  years  ago.  If  I  live  to  be  sixty,  I 
shall  expect  to  learn  how  to  pack  away  Brookline 
too  in  the  same  day,  but  am  not  quite  alert  enough 
for  it  yet." 

These  words  were  curiously  prophetic,  for  In 
October  of  the  year  1881,  when  he  was  sixty 
years  old,  my  father  bought  a  house  in  Brookline, 
Massachusetts,  and  settled  there  with  his  family. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  sixty  he  had  lost 
none  of  his  varied  interests,  and  while  he  felt  that 
he  had  earned  the  right  to  a  few  years  of  leisure, 
he  was  always  ready  to  preach  for  an  occasional 
Sunday  when  he  was  asked  to  do  so,  and  for  two 
years,  1882  and  1883,  he  preached  in  the  Unitarian 
pulpit  in  Sharon,  Massachusetts,  going  over  there 
from  Brookline  each  week  on  Saturday. 

His  new  home  was  one  that  was  especially  con- 
genial to  him,  for  it  combined  the  advantages  of 
the  country  with  nearness  to  the  city.  He  had  more 
than  two  acres  of  land,  much  of  which  was  covered 
with  oaks,  chestnuts,  and  evergreen  trees,  while 
there  was  ample  room  for  a  vegetable  garden  and 
fruit  trees.  It  seemed  at  the  time  as  if  he  could 
hardly  live  to  see  the  apple  and  pear  and  peach 
trees,  which  he  planted.  In  their  full  perfection, 
I  249  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

but  he  was  destined  to  live  three  years  longer  than 
the  twenty-seven  years  which  he  spent  in  Keene. 
Here,  in  his  new  surroundings,  he  lived  in  his  study 
among  the  books  which  he  loved  so  well,  often  as 
he  used  to  say,  resting  himself  by  changing  the 
language,  and  turning  from  German  to  Latin  or 
Greek. 

He  was  as  deeply  interested  in  out-of-door  life  as 
when  he  was  in  Keene,  and  delighted  in  the  various 
birds  that  built  their  nests  in  his  trees,  and  in  the 
gray  squirrels  that  made  their  home  there;  while  he 
would  often  chop  wood  for  exercise,  or  work  in  his 
garden. 

He  makes  this  comment  on  the  "Birds"  of 
Aristophanes:  "I  find  that  the  bird  notes  are  given 
as 

Titititititititi  and 
Tiotiotiotiotio  and 
Trioto,  trio  to,  etc. 

(making  you  seem  to  hear  them  singing  after  over 
two  thousand  years,  again)." 

After  a  slight  indisposition  which  kept  him  in 
the  house  for  a  few  days,  he  thus  writes  to  my 
mother:  — 


[  250  ] 


William  Orne  White  at  the  age  of  eighty-eight 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

BrOOKLINE,  August  22,    I882. 

When  you  left  I  lay  In  my  ship-chair  in  the 
study,  being  glad  at  last  of  a  warm  room.  I  raised 
my  head  and  stretched  my  hand,  and  the  first 
dozen  books  I  encountered  were  crowded  with 
associations;  the  Cowper  I  used  to  read  when  four- 
teen at  Exeter,  father's  gift;  Coleridge  (once  Allan 
P.  IngersoU's);  Milton,  Gray,  etc.,  father's  gift  in 
my  boyhood;  the  Bible  he  gave  me  forty-two  years 
ago;  Stanley's  "Westminster  Abbey,"  a  glance  at 
which  took  me  under  those  historic  arches;  "The 
Ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,"  which  opened  Switzerland 
at  a  glance,  etc. 

So  I  felt  that  among  those  silent  friends  I  was 
"  never  less  alone  than  when  alone,"  etc.,  and  might 
say,  "My  Library  (is)  Dukedom  large  enough.'* 
But  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the  Duchess  again,  for  all 
that. 

Later  he  wrote,  "I  especially  enjoy,  to  speak  of 
another  book,  the  merciless  and  righteous  dissec- 
tion which  that  furious  butcher  Bonaparte  gets  at 
the  hands  of  Professor  Seely." 

He  writes  thus  to  Dr.  Hale  concerning  Carlyle 
and  Emerson:  — 

[251  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

To  Edward  Everett  Hale 

Milton,  Massachusetts, 
April  1 8,  1 88 1. 

My  dear  Edward:  — 

I  thank  you  for  your  piquant  and  stirring  notice 
of  Carlyle. 

On  the  whole,  he  has  been  more  tenderly  and 
gently  dealt  with  by  those  who  sum  up  his  career, 
than  it  would  appear  that  he  was  wont  to  deal  with 
others. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  of  the  "contraband's" 
prayer;  (in  connection  with  T.  C): 

"O  Lord,  let  me  so  lib,  dat  when  I  die,  I  may- 
have  manners." 

But  I  doubt  T.  C.'s  having  uttered  a  similar 
prayer,  much  as  some  of  those  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact  might  have  wished  him  to. 

Don't  suspect  me  now  of  having  ever  knocked 
at  his  door!  (though  I  should  have  enjoyed  trying 
the  experiment). 

But  contrast  him  with  R.  W.  E.,  and  will  you 
put  a  premium  on  a  man  who  has  been  "brought 
up"  as  T.  C.  was,  and  say,  "Would  that  R.  W.  E. 
had  been  stolen  from  his  cradle  and  become  T.  C.'s 
foster-brother?" 

Or  take  the  reverse.  What  should  we  have  had, 
I  252  1 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

if  T.  C.  had  been  smuggled  into  Reverend  W. 
Emerson's  nursery  and  left  to  grow  up  with  R.  W. 
E.?  He'd  have  given  Ralph  a  bloody  nose,  I'll  be 
bound,  on  occasion;  but  it  cannot  be  that  all  Car- 
lyle's  point  and  prophecy  would  have  been  blunted 
on  the  New  England  family  grindstone. 

It  was  better,  doubtless,  that  he  should  have 
been  nurtured  just  as  he  was  —  all  things  consid- 
ered. But  remembering  "the  first  true  gentleman 
that  ever  lived,"  let  us  be  glad  that  our  New  Eng- 
land philosopher  has  a  sweeter  approach  to  him. 

It  is  when  the  swagger  and  defiance  of  a  real 
genius  like  Carlyle  are  copied  by  lesser  minds  that 
one  feels  that  he  should  not  be  too  unqualifiedly 
praised,  and  is  glad  to  read  with  you  in  your  ad- 
dress, "He  repelled  all  those  who  came  to  him." 
Ever  most  truly  yours, 

W.  O.  White. 

In  writing  to  my  mother  on  July  9,  1885,  con- 
cerning the  making  of  new  friends,  my  father  says: 
"I  wonder  what  fishing  of  this  sort  we  shall  find 
at  Kennebunkport.  Will  you  catch  anything  in  the 
fresh  water  region  of  Stockbridge .''  .  .  .  '  Keep  your 
friendships  in  repair'  is  a  good  motto  for  a  sexage- 
narian lady  —  not  by  way  of  adding  any  dried 
I  253  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

specimens  to  her  cabinet,  but  by  catching  live  ones 
to  hover  in  and  out  of  her  doors." 

Brookline, 
Wednesday  April  7,  1886. 

I  received  the  following  note :  — 

"  I  have  asked  two  or  three  of  our  classmates 
to  come  and  lunch  with  me  on  Wednesday 
(the  7th)  at  one  o'clock  to  meet  Henry  Bond 
who  sets  out  on  Friday  for  his  mission  among 
the  Indians. 

"Yours  very  truly, 

"J.  H.  Allen." 
I  had  half  a  mind  to  reply,  "Well,  I  have  no 
objection  to  your  doing  so.    I  hope  you'll  have  a 
good  time." 

Then  I  thought  I  would  say,  "I  infer  that  you 
may  expect  me." 

But  on  the  whole,  I  concluded  to  defer  any  joke 
until  I  should  meet  him.  So  I  said,  that  I  should 
be  glad  to  go  and  "help  strengthen  the  bond  that 
unites  us." 

To  M.  E.  W. 

July  12,  1889. 

I  have  returned  from  the  sad  funeral  of  Mrs. 
[Winthrop]  Scudder.    The  church  was  well  filled. 
[254] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

The  casket  was  covered  with  white.  "Jerusalem 
the  Golden"  was  sung  as  the  mourners  left  the 
church.  Thirty-eight  verses  of  I  Cor.  xv.  were  the 
only  Scripture. 

The  occasion  brought  before  me  one,  over  sixty- 
eight  years  ago,  that  I  never  saw;  and  I  seemed  to 
see  father  and  his  two  ten-  and  twelve-year-old 
daughters  as  they  left  the  Court  Street  house  to 
follow  my  mother's  body  to  the  grave,  on  return- 
ing whence,  Dr.  Prince  christened  me  in  the  cham- 
ber where,  forty  years  later,  father  died. 

I  hope  the  Scudder  infant  will  have  friends  raised 
up  for  it  also,  and  many  to  bear  testimony  in  later 
years  to  the  worth  and  loveliness  of  his  mother.  She 
will  thus  retain  a  powerful  influence  over  his  life. 

To  Dr.  James  Martineau 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
May  28,  1890. 

.  .  .  Eliza,  in  connection  with  the  "Associated 
Charities"  in  Boston,  has  been  brought  into  rela- 
tion with  sundry  households  who  have  looked  to 
her  for  guidance. 

Twin  boys  about  nine  years  old  from  one  of  these 
families,  dined  with  us  one  day  before  taking  their 
run  about  our  two  acres  of  woodland  and  garden. 
I  255  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

But  lo  and  behold!  it  was  we  who  were  to  get  a  leaf 
from  the  book  of  manners.  "Thank  you,"  said  a 
twin,  when  something  was  handed  him.  This  was 
civil  and  we  allowed  him  "the  last  word."  Where- 
upon, up  speaks  the  other  twin,  "Where  I  live,  if 
anybody  says  'Thank  you,'  we  always  say,  '  Y're 
welcome.'  "... 

I  have  just  been  reading  with  delight  and  admi- 
ration, the  opening  chapter  (Nature)  in  your  vol- 
ume upon  "The  Seat  of  Authority  in  Religion."  I 
am  anticipating  the  being  carried  still  more  heaven- 
ward, as  I  proceed.  With  the  ever-widening,  ever- 
deepening  glances  which  we  get  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  Universe,  it  would,  in  one  sense,  seem  a 
greater  boon  than  ever  to  have  a  seat  in  this  grand 
Temple,  even  were  its  doors  the  hour  after,  to  close 
upon  us,  forever.  From  that  point  of  view,  how- 
ever, we  must  believe  in  a  doctrine  of  "Election" 
which  gives  us  in  our  brief  stay,  vastly  grander 
privileges  than  other  centuries  enjoyed,  and  will 
give  our  successors  far  greater  opportunities  than 
we  have. 

How  refreshing  to  view  things  from  your  heights 
of  contemplation,  and  to  feel  that  all  such  inequal- 
ities and  disproportions  will  be  reconciled  in  the 
great  Hereafter!  ,  ,  . 

[256] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

To  M.  E.  W. 

September  6,  1890. 

Much  of  the  time  I  have  been  closeted  alter- 
nately with  Victor  Hugo  and  James  Martineau. 
I  took  leave  of  the  former  yesterday  on  the  Greve 
and  at  the  threshold  of  Notre  Dame.  So  the  seven 
hundred  pages  are  concluded.  ...  A  wonderful 
mind  —  but  I  would  have  given  his  brain  a  little 
different  twist,  and  George  Eliot's  too,  if  I  could 
have  gotten  hold  of  them;  leaving  all  the  genius 
there,  but  letting  it  play  more  agreeably  to  my 
fashion,  if  not  to  that  of  the  public.  .  .  . 

From  Dr.  J.  Martineau,  I  shall  part  to-morrow, 
when  his  six  hundred  and  fifty-two  pages  will  have 
been  finished. 

"Fishes  as  Fathers"  is  a  curious  article  that  may 
interest  you  in  the  last  "Living  Age."  It  does  not 
refer  to  Hamilton  Fish,  of  New  York,  or  his  tribe. 

To  M.  W.  T. 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
February  14,  189 1. 

My  dear  Mary:  — 

I  have  hardly  time  in  which  to  say  how  glad  I 
shall  be  to  read  the  "Life  and  Letters  of  John 
Henry  Newman."     It  is  very  kind  in  you  to  re- 
l  257  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

member  the  Septuagenarian  so  lavishly,  and  you 
and  J.  B.  T.  will  please  accept  his  warm  thanks 
therefor. 

With  such  examples  as  Aunt  Smith  and  your 
father  before  us,  some  of  us  younger  ones  may  be 
too  ready  to  plead  with  Father  Time  for  more  of 
his  spare  days,  disbelieving  the  possible  depriva- 
tions that  might  fall  to  our  portion,  were  the  plea 
listened  to. 

It  is  funny,  notwithstanding,  to  be  forced  to 
admit,  that  were  I  to  be  impossibly  continued  to 
Aunt  Smith's  age  (of  ninety-two)  and  with  wits 
enough  to  distinguish  a  kitten  from  a  squirrel  —  it 
could  not  be  without  seeing  in  you  a  septuagena- 
rian niece!  This  presents  such  a  topsy-turvy  boule- 
versement  of  my  associations  with  the  hop,  skip, 
and  jump  four  year  old  that  I  love  to  recall,  that 
I'll  e'en  let  Father  Time  lead  me  along  blind-fold, 
as  hitherto,  and  let  slip  his  grasp  when  a  higher 
Power  bids  him,  even  at  the  cost  of  never  knowing 
how  gracefully  you  will  poise  on  your  shoulders 
the  weight  of  seventy  years. 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

William  Orne  White. 


I  258] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

Brookline,  Massachusett 
February  i6,  1892. 

Rev.  James  Martineau,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

My  dear  Dr.  Martineau,  —  I  thank  you 
warmly  for  the  sight  of  your  handwriting,  and  the 
testimony  of  your  remembrance,  in  the  volume  of 
"Home  Prayers"  which  you  have  been  so  kind  as 
to  send  me. 

It  is  very  natural  that  you  should  speak  of  your- 
self as  "standing  on  the  last  verge  of  this  scene  of 
things,"  although  many  a  young  and  vigorous  life 
will  be  closed  before  your  own,  and  although  you 
may  be  spared  to  us  for  another  decade.  Yet,  read- 
ing the  above  words  in  the  light  of  the  thought 
which  prompted  them,  what  more  touching  and 
tender  gift  can  one  bestow,  than  to  take  his  friend 
within  his  innermost  shrine,  and  there,  as  "the 
clouds  receive"  the  giver  "out  of"  his  "sight," 
leave  him  alone  with  the  Great  Presence  whom  the 
departing  one  adores  afresh  as  the  Eternal  indwell- 
ing Light  and  Love.'' 

Such  a  gift  kindles  the  transcendent  vision  of 
one's  not  being  all  overlooked  by  the  risen  prophet, 
when  the  twain  shall  have  "mingled  with  a  more 
joyful  communion  where  sin  and  death  shall  be  no 
more." 

[  259  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

It  is  much  to  say  of  this  little  book  that  its  des- 
tiny is  to  shame  many  a  misgiving  spirit  (that  shall 
become  saturated  with  its  atmosphere),  out  of  any 
transient  hesitations  regarding  the  reality  of  the 
"Unseen  World."  We  do  see  it  in  a  measure  in 
such  breathings  of  the  Spirit  as  your  volume  en- 
shrines. We  see  it  in  some  of  the  utterances  of  Dr. 
Channing,  and  in  how  many  of  the  aspirations  of 
the  great  and  good  of  all  times.  I  must  maintain 
that  this  tone  of  positive  assertion  from  the  very 
depths  of  the  soul,  evokes  a  thrilling  echo  from 
within  us.  I  wonder,  whether  from  the  lips  of  any, 
within  a  few  hours  or  days  of  their  known  inevi- 
table death,  you  have  happened  to  hear  an  excla- 
mation like  this,  "Formerly,  I  could  say  I  believe 
in  Immortality,  now  I  know  it!" 

Such  were  the  words  of  Rev.  George  Moore,  at  the 
age  of  thirty-five,  to  whose  death-bed,  as  his  linger- 
ing consumption  was  ending,  I  was  summoned 
forty-five  years  ago,  in  Quincy,  Illinois  (from  St. 
Louis,  where  I  was  temporarily  taking  Dr.  Eliot's 
place).  The  tone  of  that  assertion  went  to  a  deeper 
region  of  my  heart,  than  any  utterance  that  I  ever 
heard  from  any  other  death-bed.  The  words  were 
in  response  to  my  inquiry,  "How  do  you  feel  about 
immortality  now  that  you  find  death  so  near.-*" 
[  260  1 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

Such  an  intensity  of  conviction  one  might  well 
wish  to  have  in  the  approach  of  an  hour  so  solemn. 
Mr.  Moore  was  one  of  our  own  household  of  faith. 
A  man,  from  whom  I  should  not  have  expected 
the  statement,  expressed  his  amazement  at  the  in- 
credulity as  to  another  existence  cherished  by  a 
relative  of  his,  and  then  said,  "It  was  enough  for 
me  when  I  saw  the  new  world  created  by  the  micro- 
scope." 

What  the  microscope  was  to  him,  may  this 
blessed  little  book  of  yours  be  to  many  a  soul!  May 
it  help  to  pierce  unsounded  depths  of  their  own 
spirits,  bringing  up  to  the  light  a  shred  of  what  lay 
concealed,  but  which  shall  make  them  feel  that 
there  is  that  within  them  worthy  of  being  kept 
alive,  when  the  fleshly  heart  has  done  throbbing! 

With  warm  regards  from  us  all  to  you  and  yours, 
I  remain,  as  ever. 

Respectfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

William  Orne  White. 

To  E.  0.  W. 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
November  il,  1892. 

The  election  contradicts  my  decided  wish.     I 
have  always  concluded  that  I  should  not  care  to 
f  261  1 


WILLIAiM  ORNE  WHITE 

"live  my  life  over  again."  Now  this  "result"  com- 
pels me  to  live  over  one  of  the  most  unpleasant 
parts  of  my  life  as  I  am  set  right  back  to  the  Demo- 
cratic shadows  that  overcast  my  sky  at  the  Acad- 
emy and  in  College  and  during  my  earlier  years  in 
Keene.  But  with  ten  out  of  thirteen  Republican 
Congressmen  in  Massachusetts,  instead  of  only 
five  out  of  twelve  (as  at  the  election  two  years  ago), 
there  is  a  ray  of  light  hereabouts  in  the  dreary 
landscape.  .  .  . 

In  spite  of  my  father's  intense  partisan  feeling  in 
regard  to  politics,  he  was  sufficiently  fair-minded 
to  admire  many  of  Cleveland's  acts  during  his  ad- 
ministration. 

To  E.  O.  W. 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
November  24,  1892. 

I  was  at  Trinity  Church  in  Boston  at  eleven,  to 
hear  a  thirty-eight  minutes'  extempore  sermon 
from  Bishop  Brooks  —  from  Genesis  i,  25:  "And 
God  saw  that  it  was  good."  Optimism  was  his  sub- 
ject, and  I  have  seldom  or  never  heard  him  when  he 
was  more  eloquent.  The  huge  church  was  crowded, 
and  with  many  intent  young  listeners.  And  this 
f  262  1 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

on  a  Thanksgiving  Day,  when  lean  churches  are 
proverbial.  .  .  . 

You  will  enjoy  your  Chicago  visit,  but  you  must 
not  expect  too  much  thoughtfulness  from  the 
Doctor.^  I  am  confident  that  he  exhausted  himself 
in  his  care  of  me,  and,  however  well-intentioned  can 
never  have  so  much  thought  and  care  to  bestow 
on  any  future  guest.  .  .  . 

To  Dr.  James  Martineau 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
January  2,  1893. 

...  I  lately  received  a  bright  letter  from  your 
friend  Dr.  Furness,  who,  I  trust,  will  enjoy  being 
congratulated  on  becoming  ninety-one  in  April 
(being  then,  however,  four  months  younger  than 
T.T.Stone). 

"At  the  'great  day'  it  may  not  only  be  asked 
how  you  lived;  —  but  how  long  you  lived,"  said 
our  Dr.  Noyes  over  fifty  years  ago  in  bidding  from 
the  pulpit  young  graduates  look  to  the  well-being 
of  both  physical  and  moral  natures.  .  .  . 

[There  is]  a  Centenarian  —  aye  —  one  among  us 
on  our  very  street  —  who  numbers  one  hundred 
and  two  years  and  not  arrayed  in  borrowed  plum- 

»  Dr.  E.  C.  Dudley. 
[  263   ]  , 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

age,  though  gayly  dressed.  This  lady  Is  a  Parrot, 
brought  up  by  the  grandmother  of  the  matron 
where  her  home  now  is.  Her  vocabulary,  though 
restricted,  age  has  not  abbreviated.  .  .  . 

To  M.  E.  W. 

Brookline,  August  II,  1893. 

Yesterday  the  thermometer  was  at  89°  in  the 
shade,  91°  in  Boston  (Signal  Service  thermometer). 
I  read  In  Sir  J.  Mandeville,  and  dipped  Into  Cicero, 
but  as  the  heat  increased  I  was  glad  to  take  refuge 
with  the  "Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,"  with 
whom  I  am  still  jogging  along. 

After  the  sun  went  down,  /,  too,  went  down  in 
humble  Imitation,  but  only  to  the  Square.  The 
great  heat  of  yesterday  seems  to  have  sent  a  Lynn 
man  walking  too  far  out  into  the  ocean,  but  I  think 
you  cannot  have  got  yesterday  on  your  route  con- 
veniently near  enough  to  ocean  or  river  to  have 
followed  suit. 

The  mosquitoes  have  not  yet  come  back  from 
their  camp-meeting  at  Littleton  or  Andover,  or 
wherever  they  are  holding  It.  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
find  when  we  get  there  that  they  have  n't  "broken 
camp"  at  Littleton,  but  I  trust  that  they  have  at 
Andover. 

[  264  1 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

A  white  morning-glory  looks  up  at  your  dressing- 
room  window  with  her  blue  sisters.  Mary  H.  and 
Bessie  D.  are  both  well  and  the  cat  and  the  cat- 
lets. 

One  of  the  most  encouraging  features  in  the  life 
of  my  father  and  mother  was  the  brave  and  cheerful 
spirit  in  which  they  took  the  limitations  and  infir- 
mities which  came  with  advancing  years.  The  fol- 
lowing letters  written  when  my  father  and  mother 
were  seventy-two  and  seventy  years  old  to  their 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  Caleb  Foote,  when  he  was 
ninety,  give  the  keynote  to  their  outlook  on  life 
and  foreshadow  the  way  in  which  they  spent  their 
own  later  years. 

My  mother  writes :  — 

(February)  1893. 

.  .  .  Nothing  has  made  the  possibility  of  a  pro- 
longed life  seem  more  alluring  to  me,  than  your 
own  declaration  that  at  ninety,  you  are  still  in  love 
with  this  beautiful  world  of  ours.  In  fact,  I  believe, 
that  if  we  are  happily  situated,  the  longer  we  live 
in  it,  the  better  we  like  it.  The  chief  charm  of  it  is 
the  love  that  goes  with  us  to  the  end.  Of  this,  you 
and  I  have  both  had  a  large  share.  I  cannot  ask 
[  265  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

for  anything  better  than  to  be  as  worthy  of  it,  as 
you  are.  ... 

And  my  father  says :  — 

Brookline,  February  27,  1893. 
My  dear  Brother:  — 

I  am  glad  to  have  lived  to  see  you  rounding  out 
your  ninetieth  February!  The  snows  of  ninety 
winters!  Wrestling,  as  we  have  all  had  to  with  the 
snows  of  this  one  solitary  winter,  what  an  idea  it 
gives  one  of  his  pluck,  and  persistency  and  energy, 
who  has  come  off  victor  in  a  contest  with  ninety 
of  'em! 

If  your  strength  were  a  little  "weakened  in  the 
way,"  just  as  this  latter  winter  was  about  to  fling 
down  his  glove  in  defiance,  Old  Hiems  had  to  stoop 
down  and  pick  it  up  again,  and  confess  that  C.  F. 
was  too  many  for  him,  as  he  had  always  been  for 
his  numerous  predecessors. 

And  out  of  the  transient  weakening  which  for  a 
while  befel  you,  you  have  wrung  a  blessing,  inas- 
much as  by  your  own  chimneyside  you  have  sum- 
moned for  companionship,  your  favorite  authors 
around  you,  instead  of  following  with  horse-like 
tread.  Mercury's  Machine  on  Essex  St. 

So,  as  you  while  away  the  blustering  March  days 
[  266  1 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

that  are  coming,  will  you  not  receive  "Fanny 
Burney"'  as  a  guest  who  is  commissioned,  not 
only  to  travel  back  with  you  to  the  dawn  of  the 
Century,  but  to  convey  to  you  my  warmest  wishes 
for  you  In  its  twilight;  she  will  echo,  with  me,  the 
charge  of  Milton,  to  which  all  your  past  years  have 
borne  faithful  witness: 

"Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate;  but  what  thou  liv'st 
Live  well:  how  long  or  short  permit  to  Heaven." 

With  love  from  us  all, 

I  am  your  affectionate  brother, 

W.  O.  White. 

To  Dr.  James  Martineau 

Brookline,  Massachusetts, 
December  23,  1897. 

...  I  have  entirely  agreed  with  you  In  what  you 
have  said  of  the  inadequacy  (and  may  I  add,  pov- 
erty) of  the  word  "Unitarian,"  at  least  as  a  desig- 
nation of  such  as  are  every  moment  breathing  such 
a  spiritual  atmosphere  as  you  are.  Nor  do  I  think 
the  word  Trinitarian  a  just  or  fortunate  appella- 
tion for  those  believers  who  differ  from  us.  My 
father  (one  hundred  and  twenty-one  years  old 
were  he  In  the  flesh),  an  earnest  Unitarian,  always 

^  With  good  luck,  she  hopeth  to  reach  you  on  the  28th  of  February. 
[   267   ] 


WILLIAxM  ORNE  WHITE 

thought  that  "Christian"  would  have  been  better; 
he  doubtless  felt  the  want  of  inclusiveness  in  the 
word  "Unitarian." 

To  Dr.  James  Martineau 

February  12,  1898. 

Well,  we  found  the  Jowett  volumes  very  inter- 
esting reading,  as  we  since  have  the  "Life  and  Let- 
ters of  Tennyson."  (How  I  wish  T.  had  shared 
your  sentiments  regarding  tobacco!  Pipe,  pipe, 
pipe,  on  almost  every  page,  and  all  the  pipers  can- 
not expect  to  live  as  long  as  he  and  Carlyle  did.) 

Here  is  one  sentence  which,  to  me,  more  than 
almost  aught  else,  marks  the  inherent  greatness  of 
the  man,  vast  in  humility  (vol.  i,  p.  3 1 1) :  "  I  should 
infinitely  rather  feel  myself  the  most  miserable 
wretch  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  with  a  God  above, 
than  the  highest  type  of  man,  standing  alone." 

I  somehow  can  hardly  help  fancying  that  there 
are  people  who  do  not  enjoy  looking  up  to  what  is 
higher  than  they  are;  and  possibly  there  are  those 
of  such  conceit  as  hardly  to  imagine  anything 
higher  than  themselves.  And  yet,  in  this  grand 
burst  of  prose  Tennyson  does  but  echo  the  old  re- 
frain, "Lead  me  to  the  Rock  that  is  higher  than  L" 

This  thirst  for  what  is  higher  and  purer,  and  for 
[  268  ] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

unattained  opportunities  of  pursuing  it,  as  evi- 
denced in  the  lives  of  spiritual  experts;  witness 
Henry  More,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Channing,  and  saints 
of  a  still  elder  day,  seems,  in  itself,  an  assurance 
that  the  thirst  shall  be  satisfied. 

In  the  year  1898,  when  Mr.  White  was  seventy- 
seven  years  old,  he  was  walking  home  after  dark 
in  the  late  winter  afternoon,  when  he  was  attacked, 
not  far  from  his  own  house,  by  a  man  who  gave 
him  a  heavy  blow  on  the  head.  My  father  stag- 
gered back,  but  called  out  in  such  a  powerful  voice 
that  he  saw  his  antagonist's  shadowy  form  van- 
ishing into  the  distance.  My  father  came  back  and 
quietly  told  us  what  had  happened  as  we  were 
sitting  around  the  supper-table.  He  was  confined 
to  the  house  for  a  few  days,  but  as  soon  as  he  was 
able  to  go  out  again,  he  once  more  began  to  take 
his  daily  walk  after  dark.  The  family  all  remon- 
strated with  him,  but  to  no  avail. 

"I  cannot  accept  life  at  the  price  of  fear,"  he 
said. 

It  was  evident  that  he  did  not  feel  his  age,  for 
on   his   eightieth   birthday   he   said   at   intervals, 
"Eighty  years  old,"  as  if  it  were  a  great  joke;  and 
he  added,  "I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  life." 
[  269  1 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

In  the  year  1900,  the  marriage  of  his  younger 
daughter  ^  took  much  of  the  brightness  and  life  out 
of  the  household,  and  on  June  2,  1903,  came  the 
great  sorrow  of  the  death  of  his  wife.  But  even 
then,  his  faith  never  wavered,  and  those  who  came 
to  him  full  of  sorrow  over  their  own  loss  in  her 
death,  and  expecting  to  find  him  overwhelmed 
with  grief,  went  away  feeling  that  it  was  he  who 
had  cheered  and  comforted  them. 

"People  are  commiserating  me  on  account  of  the 
death  of  my  wife,"  he  once  said,  "and  I  tell  them 
it  is  a  wonderful  thing  that  I  have  had  her  com- 
panionship for  over  fifty  years." 

To  be  privileged  to  share  the  life  of  a  spirit  so 
courageous  and  so  full  of  faith  and  absolute  belief 
that  "all  things  work  together  for  good  to  those 
who  love  God,"  was  a  constant  incentive  to  cour- 
age, while  the  play  of  his  own  individual  humor, 
which  was  a  never-ending  surprise,  gave  his  com- 
panionship a  piquancy  and  freshness  which  is  more 
apt  to  be  the  accompaniment  of  youth  than  of  ex- 
treme old  age.  Indeed,  he  always  kept  the  vivid 
interest  in  all  that  was  going  on  in  the  world  that 
makes  its  possessor  continue  to  be  a  welcome 
companion  to  the  young.   The  young  people  who 

*  Rose  White,  married  to  Dr.  D.  W.  Nead,  January  29,  1900. 
[  270  ] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

came  to  stay  at  the  house  were  always  fascinated 
with  him.  I  do  not  quite  know  what  constituted 
the  freemasonry  that  existed  between  him  and 
those  who  were  young  enough  to  be  his  grand- 
children, but  they  all  were  drawn  to  him.  I  think 
the  secret  lay  in  his  perennial  youth,  and  an  entire 
unconsciousness  and  failure  to  conform  to  a  set 
rule.  His  point  of  view  was  always  spontaneous 
and  therefore  frequently  surprising.  Once  when  he 
was  urged  by  an  acquaintance  to  do  something 
that  he  did  not  care  to  do  he  gravely  asserted  to 
the  family  that  it  was  a  good  rule  sometimes  to 
do  things  to  please  one's  self.  On  another  occasion 
I  came  through  the  hall  just  behind  him  and  heard 
him  talking  to  himself.  He  had  his  watch  in  his 
hand  and  was  comparing  it  with  the  always-to- 
be-depended-upon  hall  clock.  "You  are  a  lying 
devil,"  he  remarked  to  his  watch,  and  then  looked 
guilty  like  a  naughty  schoolboy  when  he  realized 
that  this  remark  had  been  overheard. 

He  delighted  in  reading  aloud,  and  every  eve- 
ning, he  read  aloud  for  two  or  three  hours  on  the 
stretch.  This  was  another  thing  that  always  aston- 
ished the  young  guests,  for  he  read  without  glasses, 
as  this  was  easier  for  his  near-sighted  eyes.  He  had 
a  vigorous  voice,  and  a  dramatic  way  of  reading  the 
[  271  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

things  he  liked,  but  nothing  could  have  been  more 
listless  and  uninteresting  than  the  way  in  which  he 
read  an  article  or  story  that  did  not  appeal  to  him. 

He  made  friends  in  the  neighborhood  with  the 
conductors  and  motormen  and  often  found  occa- 
sion to  advise  them  against  drinking  or  the  use  of 
tobacco.  His  dislikes  were  unconquerable,  and  one 
of  the  aversions  of  his  later  life  was  a  detestation  of 
automobiles.  Once  when  invited  by  a  young  rela- 
tive to  go  on  a  trip  which  he  would  very  much 
have  liked  to  take,  he  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  have  said  too  many  things 
against  automobiles.  I  would  n't  dare  to  go  in  one 
for  fear  it  would  take  its  revenge." 

He  continued  to  read  the  newspapers  to  himself 
almost  from  end  to  end,  and  was  keenly  interested 
in  politics  up  to  the  very  last.  He  was  as  vehement 
in  his  denunciations  of  those  with  whom  he  did  not 
agree  as  at  any  time  of  his  life.  When  I  hear  my 
friends  say  they  are  glad  the  old  people  belonging 
to  them  died  before  the  beginning  of  this  fright- 
ful European  War,  I  sometimes  wish  my  father's 
ninety  years  might  have  covered  this  period.  I 
know  how  intensely  he  would  have  felt,  and  yet 
with  what  acute  interest  he  would  have  watched 
every  move  in  the  struggle.  I  can  almost  hear  the 
[  272  ] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

exclamations  that  would  have  fallen  from  his  lips. 
As  in  the  period  of  the  Civil  War  his  voice  would 
have  given  no  uncertain  sound:  but  in  spite  of  the 
shock  to  his  faith  in  human  nature  he  would  have 
had  a  sturdy  belief  that  the  right  would  prevail  at 
last,  that  would  have  been  very  bracing  to  his 
friends.  It  was  happier  for  him,  however,  that  his 
later  years  should  have  been  unshadowed  by  so 
black  a  cloud. 

It  is  a  comfort  to  remember  how  much  pleasure 
he  had  in  the  enjoyment  of  Nature  during  those 
later  years.  The  wish  expressed  in  a  letter  of  June, 
1847,  was  realized:  "I  hope  to  have  a  month  or  two 
in  every  summer  to  play  outdoors  in,  on  stages,  or 
steamboats,  or  in  the  mountains." 

In  the  spring  of  1900  he  went  with  friends  by 
steamer  from  Washington  to  Norfolk,  Virginia,  to 
see  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1902, 
when  he  was  eighty-one  years  old,  he  accepted  an 
invitation  to  visit  a  niece  in  Canada.  It  was  my 
good  fortune  to  be  his  companion  on  the  journey,  a 
part  of  which  he  had  taken  with  his  father  sixty-five 
years  earlier.  I  remember  how,  as  we  were  flying 
through  the  dark  night  on  our  way  to  Montreal,  he 
talked  about  immortality  in  words  so  inspiring  and 
vivid  that  I  would  give  much  if  I  had  the  verbal 
[  273  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

memory  to  recall  them.  His  Interest  in  Montreal 
could  hardly  have  been  greater  when  he  first  went 
there  as  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  the  days  he  spent  at 
Brockville  with  his  niece,  Mrs.  George  T.  Fulford, 
and  her  husband,  gave  him  the  keenest  pleasure, 
one  of  the  attractions  being  an  afternoon's  cruise 
in  their  yacht  among  the  beautifully  wooded 
islands  on  the  St.  Lawrence. 

He  spent  several  summers  at  the  mountains  and 
others  at  the  seashore,  and  wherever  he  went, 
whether  to  Whitefield,  Lunenburg,  Bartlett,  or 
Nahant,  he  carried  his  enthusiastic  love  of  walking 
and  driving  and  his  enjoyment  of  the  birds  and 
flowers. 

He  continued  his  walks  until  he  had  reached  an 
advanced  age,  and  even  in  the  last  summer  before 
his  fatal  illness  he  still  took  his  favorite  walk  to 
Jamaica  Pond,  although  he  was  too  lame  to  go 
there  alone,  and  the  ten  minutes  that  it  had 
once  taken  him  was  then  stretched  to  nearly  an 
hour. 

.  On  January  20,  1910,  he  came  down  with  pneu- 
monia and  he  was  not  able  to  walk  again,  although 
he  lived  until  February  17,  191 1.  He  was  never 
again  his  vigorous  self,  but  he  recovered  sufficiently 
to  be  able  to  read,  and  in  the  summer  he  was 
[  274  ] 


FROM  SIXTY  TO  NINETY 

wheeled  out  a  few  times  as  far  as  Jamaica  Pond. 
His  last  trip  was  taken  there  in  September,  1910, 
when  it  seemed  as  if  the  swans,  which  had  inter- 
ested him  so  much,  knew  that  it  was  his  last  visit 
and  had  assembled  to  bid  him  farewell,  for  more 
than  twenty  of  them  were  drawn  up  at  the  edge 
of  the  pond. 

As  has  been  seen  more  than  once,  my  father  had 
always  taken  a  great  interest  in  old  people  and  all 
through  the  last  hard  year  of  his  life  he  had  a  long- 
ing to  reach  his  ninetieth  birthday.  It  seemed  as  if 
it  was  just  unusual  strength  of  will  that  enabled 
him  to  see  that  day,  for  on  February  12,  his  birth- 
day, he  had  a  second  attack  of  pneumonia,  and 
only  lived  five  days. 

The  afternoon  of  his  funeral  there  was  a  snow- 
storm which  fell  gently  on  his  last  resting-place 
and  made  the  final  service  in  that  spot,  in  the 
Walnut  Hills  Cemetery,  a  scene  of  peace  and 
inspiration. 

The  keynote  of  his  life  was  dauntless  courage 
and  faith,  and  he  expected  those  about  him  to  have 
the  same  courageous  outlook  on  life.  He  once  said 
to  a  member  of  his  family,  "I  never  have  any  fear 
about  your  future,  for  whatever  trials  may  come 
to  you,  you  will  have  the  courage  to  meet  them." 
[275  ] 


WILLIAM  ORNE  WHITE 

To  have  shared  for  so  many  years  the  compan- 
ionship of  one  who  held  this  gallant  philosophy  of 
life,  is  so  great  a  privilege  that  it  has  seemed  to 
necessitate  the  sharing  it  with  others. 


THE   END 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Adams,  John  Quincy,  Jr.,  eulogy 

on  Madison,  32. 
Ajter  Noontide,  quoted,  221-24. 
Allan,  J.  H.,  57,  58- 
Allen,  F.  E.,  171. 
Allen,  Joseph  Henry,  63,  254. 
Annapolis,  Nova  Scotia,  72,  73. 

Baillie,  Joanna,  58. 

Barstow,  Dr.,  Orthodox  minister 

at  Keene,  197,  198. 
Bartlett,  Gen.  W.  F.,  179, 180. 
Bartol,  Rev.  George  M.,  63. 
Bell,  Dr.,  of  Edinburgh,  56. 
Bellows,  Dr.  Henry  W.,  140. 
Bemis,  Dr.,  Boston  dentist,  125. 
Bigelow,  Dr.  Henry  J.,  55,  56. 
Boies,  Charles  A.,  139. 
Bond,  Henry  F.,  51,52,53,  63,  254. 
Brooks,  Phillips,  262. 
Buchanan,  Pres.  James,  120. 

Canker-worm,  the,  108,  109. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  252,  253. 
Catbird,  song  of,  211. 
Channing,  Edward  T.,  36,  49. 
Chapin,  William,  152. 
Christian  Register,  168,  169. 
Civil  War,  the,  143-83. 
Clay,  Henry,  105. 
Commemoration  Day  at  Harvard 

(1865),  178-80. 
Craigie,  Mrs.,  45. 
Crow,  Mr.,  of  St.  Louis,  80,  81. 


Dartmouth  College,  133,  188. 
Delaware  Water  Gap,  92,  93. 
Draft  riots,  in  New  York,   161, 

162;  in  Boston,  162. 
Drummond,  Mr.,  Scotch  acquaint 

ance  of  Mr.  White's  in  Sicily, 

57,  S8. 
Dudley,  Dr.  E.  C,  263. 
Dwight,  Wilder,  153,  154. 
Dwight,  Mrs.  William.  See  White, 

Elizabeth  Amelia. 

Eastport,  Maine,  66-71,  78. 

Education,  some  essentials  of,  210. 

Eliot,  William  G.,  73. 

Elliot,  Arthur,  152. 

Elliot,  James,  152. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  37,  90, 

252,  253. 
Emery,  Mary,  34. 
Everett,  Edward,  46-48. 
Exeter  Academy,  15,  18. 

Faulkner,  Mrs.  F.  A.,  letter  to, 

228. 
Felton,  Cornelius  C,  49. 
Fire,  attraction  of,  75. 
Fiske,  F.  S.,  145,  146. 
Foote,  Caleb,  265-67. 
Foote,   Mrs.   Caleb.    See  White, 

Mary  Wilder. 
Foote,  Henry  Wilder,  102. 
Force,  Gen.  Manning  F.,  179. 
Forrest,  Edwin,  37. 


279 


INDEX  • 


French,  Orren,  140. 
Frothingham,   Octavius    Brooks, 

63. 
Fulford,  Mrs.  George  T.,  274. 

Goodall,  Thomas,  177. 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  90;  as  a 
preacher,  123;  letters  to,  167, 
168,  226,  252. 

Hale,  Ellen  Day,  230. 

Hale,  George  S.,  96. 

Hale,  Lucretia  P.,  104. 

Harding,  Chester,  73;  death,  182, 
183. 

Harding,  Margaret  Eliot,  48,  73, 
83,  89;  letters  to,  74,  77-80,  81, 
82,  87.  See  also  White,  Mrs. 
Willian^  Orne. 

Harrington,  Professor,  of  Wes- 
leyan  University,  200,  201. 

Harvard  College,  28;  disturb- 
ances at,  30,  31;  Freshman 
courses,  31;  examinations,  35, 
36;  Commemoration  I>ay,  178- 
80. 

Haynes,  "Great"  Uncle,  172. 

Haynes,  Thomas,  173. 

Higginson,  Mrs.  F.  J.,  128. 

Higginson,  Hetty,  11. 

Higginson,  Col.  T.  W.,  63,  161. 

Hill,  Pres.  Thomas,  63. 

Home,  John,  2. 

Hurd,  Frank,  15,  16. 

Hurd,  Rev.  Isaac,  15. 

Incendiarism  in  Cambridge,  45, 

46. 
Ingersoll,  Dr.,  149. 
Insect  pests,  108,  109. 


Keene,  New  Hampshire,  96-142, 

197-219,  227,  228. 
Kemble,  Fanny,  90. 
Kilbum,  Mr.,  204. 
Knapp,  Frederick  N.,  140. 

Latimer,  Bishop  Hugh,  sermon 
by,  207,  208. 

Leach,  Rev.  Mr.,  of  Keene,  202- 
04. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  second  in- 
augural, 170;  death,  173-76; es- 
timate of,  174,  175. 

Lind,  Jenny,  93,  94. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  46,  49. 

Lowe,  Martha  Perry,  129. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  45. 

Mammoth  Cave,  85-87. 
Martineau,  James,  62,  192;  sends 

Mr.  White  a  hymn-book,  208; 

friendship      with,     220,     221 ; 

Home  Pitayers,  259-61;  letters 

to,    215,    255,    259,    263,   267, 

268. 
Methodist  Conference,  198-200. 
Minor,  T.  T.,  assistant  surgeon, 

161.  I 

Money,    raising,    for    a    church, 

205. 
Moore,  Rev.  George,  260,  261. 
Moors,  Rev.  John  F.,  63. 
Mount  Willard,  view  from,  127. 
Musgrave,  Thomas,  151. 

Natural  Bridge,  88. 
Nead,  Dr.  D.  W.,  270. 
Niagara  Falls,  1 12-14. 
North  Conway,  New  Hampshire, 
123-26. 


[   280 


INDEX 


Orne,  Dwight,  153. 

Orne,  Eliza,  mother  of  Mr.  White, 

i>  3)  S;  twice  married,  4, 
Orne,  William,  2. 

Palfrey,  Dr.  John  G.,  sermon  by, 
29. 

Paul,  Mrs.,  New  Brunswick  In- 
dian, 151. 

Peabody,  Andrew  Preston,  92. 

Peabody,  Francis  H.,  129. 

Peabody,  Rev.  William  B.  O.,  6.' 

Peabody,  Mrs.  W.  B.  O.  See 
White,  Amelia. 

Peace,  of  which  the  angels  sang, 
160. 

Peirson,  Edward  B.,  28. 

Peirson,  Ellen,  129. 

Peirson,  Harriet,  129. 

Phillips,  Rev.  George,  61. 

Pickering,  Col.  Timothy,  8,  9,  209. 

Putnam,  Dr.  George,  180. 

Renouf,  Dr.  Edward  A.,  Episcopal 

rector  at  Keene,  198. 
Resignation,  Christian,  1 19,  120. 
Reynolds,  Rev.  Grindall,  63. 
Rogers,   Emily    (Mrs.   John    H. 

Morison),  6,  iii. 
Rogers,  Ruth  Hurd  (Mrs.  Daniel 

A.  White),  6,  7. 
Ropes,    Abigail    (Mrs.    William 

Orne),  2,  3. 
Ropes,  Judge,  of  Salem,  2. 
Ropes  Memorial,  2,  3. 

St.  Helena,  53,  54. 
St.  Louis,  Mo.,  76,  78,  79. 
Scudder,  Mrs.  Winthrop  S.,  254. 
Sewall,  Rev.  Henry,  61. 

{   28 


Seymour,  Horatio,  162. 
Shepherd,  Perkins,  56. 
Simpson,  Bishop  Matthew,   198, 

200. 
Slavery,  121,  144. 
Slaves,  sale  of,  84. 
Sparks,  Jared,  49. 
Stage-coach,  traveling  by,  16,  29. 
Switzerland,  54,  223. 

Taylor,  Edward  ("Father  Tay- 
lor"), 64. 

Telegraph,  the,  98. 

Temperance,  Mr.  White's  inter- 
est in,  91,  92,  no,  206,  214. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  268. 

Thayer,  Dr.,  149,  152. 

Tinkham,  Mr.,  of  Eastport,  68, 
69,  70. 

Twitchell,  Dr.  George  B.,  152. 

Tyndall,  John,  215. 

Typographical  errors,  168,  169. 

Umbrellas,  "gobbling,"  187,  188. 

Unitarian,  inadequacy  of  the 
word,  267,  268. 

Unitarians,  and  the  New  Testa- 
ment, 75;  considered  heretics, 
197. 

Van  Schalkwyck,  Mary  Wilder, 

first  wife  of  Judge  White,  j. 
Very,  Jones,  49. 

War,  a  hard-featured  nurse,  159. 
Ward,  G.  A.,  61. 
Ware,  Rev.  Henry,  37,  61. 
Watertown,  old  burying  ground 

in,  42. 
Webster,  Daniel,  death  of,  105. 

I    ] 


INDEX 


West  Newton,  Mass.,  89-95. 
Wetmore,   Mrs.   William    (after- 
ward Mrs.  Daniel  A.  White), 

'    3,4. 

White,  Amelia  (Mrs.  W.  B.  O. 
Peabody),  5,  6,  73. 

White,  Judge  Daniel  Appleton, 
I,  7,  9;  married,  4,  5,  6;  death, 
141;  letters  to,  13,  21,  25,  35,  36, 
43,  44,  46,  51,  63,  66,  68,  69,  72, 
80,  90,  92, 97,  98,  105,  106,  108- 
12,  115,  Ii6,  121-26,  129-39, 
16s. 

White,  Daniel  Appleton,  son  of 
W.  O.  W.,  141. 

White,  Eliza  Orne,  175;  letters  to, 
186-96,  206-13,  261,  262. 

White,  Elizabeth  Amelia  (Mrs. 
William  Dwight),  4,  5,  73. 

White,  Henry  Orne,  6. 

White,  Mrs.  John  (Elizabeth 
Haynes),  grandmother  of  W. 
O.  W.,  10,  II. 

White,  Mary  Wilder  (Mrs.  Caleb 
Foote),  5,  60;  death  of,  128-30, 

^   131,  132. 

White,  Rose  (Mrs.  D.  W.  Nead), 
270. 

White,  Ruth  Hurd,  wife  of  Daniel 
A.  White,  6;  death  of,  214;  let- 
ters to,  7,  34,  38,  66,  68,  90,  93, 
97,  107,  III,  116,  120,  124,  138, 
145,  148,  153,  162,  163-66,  170, 
173-80,  181,  182,  200,  213,  214. 

White,  William  (1635),  2. 

White,  William  Orne,  born,  i; 
ancestry,  2-5;  childhood,  6-14; 
sensitive  and  helpful,  8,  9;  mis- 
chievous, 10;  humorous,  ii; 
sent  to  Dame  School,    11;  at 

[   282   ] 


boarding-school,  12,  13;  home- 
sick, 13;  at  Phillips  Exeter 
Academy,  15-27;  his  reading, 
18,  22;  fond  of  walking,  20,  22, 
42,  78,  127,  274;  Sunday  occu- 
pations, 22,  25;  goes  on  fishing 
cruise,  24;  writes  essay  compar- 
ing Homer  and  Virgil,  24,  26, 
27;  enters  Harvard,  28;  Fresh- 
man courses,  31;  examinations, 
35,  36;  trip  to  Quebec  and 
Montreal,  38-40;  Sophomore 
studies,  40,  41;  Junior  exhibi- 
tion, 43 ;  visits  in  Springfield,  44; 
class  orator,  48;  his  Class  Day 
spread,  48  n.;  foreign  trip,  51- 
60;  in  St.  Helena,  53,  54;  in 
Switzerland,  54;  in  Italy,  55; 
ill  at  Alexandria,  55,  56;  trip 
through  Sicily,  57,  58;  in  Cam- 
bridge, England,  60;  enters 
Harvard  Divinity  School,  61; 
his  first  pastorate,  Eastport, 
Maine,  66-71,  78;  trip  through 
the  provinces,  71-73;  goes  to 
St.  Louis,  73;  in  a  steamboat 
accident,  74,  75;  describes  St. 
Louis,  76;  enjoys  his  profession, 
78;  on  seeing  slaves  sold,  83, 
84;  returns  East,  84-88;  visits 
Mammoth  Cave,  85,  86;  at 
Natural  Bridge,  88;  married, 
89;  in  West  Newton,  Mass.,  89- 
95;  interested  in  temperance, 
91,  92,  no,  206,  214;  visits 
Delaware  Water  Gap,  92. 

Called  to  Keene,  New  Hamp- 
shire, 96;  becomes  a  member  of 
the  School  Committee,  98,  in, 
112;  on  the  business  reverses  of 


INDEX 


a  friend,  ICX),  lOi;  his  political 
attitude,  105;  at  Niagara  Falls. 
1 12-14;  preaches  on  Christian 
resignation,  119,  120;  his  eldest 
child  christened,  121;  journey- 
to  North  Conway,  123;  a  stren- 
uous drive,  124-26;  influence  of 
his  sister  Mary's  death,  128- 
32;  receives  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica  from  his  parish,  137, 
138;  and  an  increase  of  salary, 
139;  takes  an  interesting  horse- 
back journey,  139,  140;  death 
of  his  father,  141,  142;  atti- 
tude in  the  Civil  War,  143,  144, 
150;  birthday  surprise  party 
given  by  his  parish,  148,  149; 
moved  by  enlistments  among 
his  parishioners,  152;  a  Thanks- 
giving Day  sermon  in  war- 
time, 154-57;  a  Christmas 
sermon,  157-60;  a  parish  recep- 
tion, 163,  164;  social  "compli- 
cations," 166,  167;  a  railroad 
delay,  170,  171;  on  Abraham 
Lincoln,  173-76;  Commemora- 
tion Day,  178-80;  organizes  a 
Freedmen's  Association,  181; 
his  sympathy  with  children, 
184;  a  good  story-teller,  184; 
disliked  dogs,  185;  letters  to  his 
little  daughter,  186-96;  rela- 
tions with  brother  ministers, 
197-202;  account  of  a  Metho- 
dist Conference,  198-201; 
preaches  a  series  of  doctrinal 
sermons,  202,  203;  building  a 
new  church,  204,  205;  death  of 
his  stepmother,  214. 

Asks  church  for  a  year's  leave 


of  absence,  216;  goes  to  Europe 
for  a  year,  220;  friendship  with 
James  Martineau,  220,  221;  in 
Paris,  221,  222;  in  Switzerland, 
223;  in  Scotland,  224,  225;  re- 
turns to  Keene  and  resigns,  225, 
226;  strong  attachment  to  the 
people  there,  227-30;  his  ser- 
mons and  prayers,  230-47;  be- 
lieved in  equal  suffrage,  242; 
settles  in  Brookline,  249;  among 
his  books,  251;  an  intense  Re- 
publican, 262;  brutally  at- 
tacked, 269;  marriage  of  his 
younger  daughter,  270;  death 
of  his  wife,  270;  some  character- 
istics of  his  last  years,  269-74; 
his  death,  274. 

Letters  from :  to  his  father,  13, 
21.25,35,36,43,44,46,51,63, 
66-70,  72,  80, 90,  92, 97, 98,  105, 
106,  108-12,  115,  116,  121-26, 
129-39,  165;  to  his  stepmother, 
7,  34,  38, 66,  68, 90, 97, 107, 1 1 1, 
116,  120,  124,  138,  153,  163-66, 
170.  173-80,  181,  182,  200,  213, 
214;  to  Miss  Harding,  74,  77- 
80,  81,  82,  87;  to  his  wife,  94, 
99,  100,  118,  127,  141,  145,  161, 
162,  170,  172,  198,  204,  251, 
254,  257,  264;  to  Eliza  Orne 
White,  186-96,  206-13,  261, 
262;  to  Mrs.  F.  A.  Faulkner, 
228;  to  Caleb  Foote,  266;  to 
Henry  Wilder  Foote,  102;  to 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  167, 
168,  226,  252;  to  Mrs.  F.  J. 
Higginson,  128;  to  James  Mar- 
tineau, 215,  255,  259,  263,  267, 
268. 


[   283 


INDEX 


White,  Mrs.  William  Orne,  letter 
about  Jenny  Lind,  93,  94;  first 
impressions  of  Keene,  96,  97; 
describes  their  first  parish 
party  in  Keene,  104;  her  inter- 
ests  and   activities,   205,   206; 


After  Noontide  quoted,  221-24;    Wordsworth,  William,  59,  60. 


death,  270;  letters  to,  74,  77- 
79,  81,  82,  87,  94,  99,  100,  118, 
127, 141, 14s,  161, 170, 173, 198, 
204,  251,  254,  257,  264;  letters 
from,  to  her  mother-in-law,  145, 
148,  162,  180. 


^l)t  tii'aemtit  ptt^^ 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .   S    .   A 


938. 7 


?;58 

COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

0035521830 


FEB  2  8  195B 


'il0^0.- 


-^i^ 


•ft 


